Desolation: The 93rd Hunger Games
by Audmirable
Summary: Eighteen years after the failed rebellion, the Capitol is still in power. The Hunger Games have continued, now on it's 93rd cycle. As twenty four new tributes prepare for the fight of their life, one question has started to spread like wildfire: is there any way to change things? SYOT, 12/24 alive.
1. Calculus of Choice

Dax wasn't sure how long he had been sitting in this chair, watching the slow breathing of the girl in front of him. That's what she was, really. Just a girl. At sixteen, Blaire Offerseed was on of the younger victors he had worked with, her youth still apparent in the roundness of her face and the fact that she had yet to hit a growth spurt yet. Of course he imagined that she would object to being called a girl, after all that she had been through. The 92nd Hunger Games had been a particularly brutal one. An island archipelago, with more salt water than fresh. Blaire had won by luring the boy from one into a trap and drowning him. His death had taken an entire half hour. Dax himself was a little haunted by it.

Clearly Blaire was too.

The girl stirred then, slowly blinking for a moment before realizing where she was. After that she bolted upright, tearing at the I.V. in her arm. She was fast, but Dax was experienced with such things. With a practiced movement he placed one hand over her elbow so that she couldn't pick at it, and the other on her shoulder to keep her still.

"I'm sorry, Miss Offerseed. You know I can't let you do that." he told her. His voice was calm but firm. He did try to be calm in these situations, despite what happened.

Blaire's only response was to scream, then spit in his face. Sometimes it was a struggle to keep calm.

"Miss Offerseed. I know that this is a less than desirable situation."

"You THINK?" she yelled, bucking and biting at him. Blaire was a victor, someone who had proven their prowess in combat. But in this moment she was just a girl. A girl who had lost a lot of blood. Dax withstood her easily, "Just let me die!"

"Miss Offerseed." Dax said, trying to get to her, trying to save her, "How many times have you tried to kill yourself since your games? Three, four times?"

"Five." She said defiantly, "You forgot on the train of the victory tour."

Dax had in fact forgotten that one. It had been a quick attempt, almost successful even. Thankfully a guard had been able to save her. Since she had a schedule to keep they had not asked him to observe her at that time.

"The point I am making." He said evenly, "Is that they are not going to let you go."

"You mean you aren't." She pushed against his hands as if to make her point.

"If it wouldn't hurt the people I loved, I would leave you to your devices Blaire. I would. But the Capitol is bigger than the both of us." He said, not even realizing that he had called the victor by her first name. That was inappropriate. Dangerous even. He shouldn't have done it.

Blaire calmed down slightly, and Dax took his hand off her shoulder, "I still hate you." she said.

Dax hated himself most days, so he let that pass without comment, "The next games are coming up soon. District Ten doesn't have another female victor. If you don't care enough about yourself, or your family, then think about her."

"If none of that is enough for me to want to stay alive, why would some stranger I don't know matter?"

"Because," Dax said patiently, "If there's another victor from ten, they won't pay as much attention to you."

The girl looked contemplative, almost hungry, and she nodded sullenly at Dax. He lifted his hand from her I.V.

"So that's the only way out? I find someone to take my place?" she asked

Dax found himself looking up at the ceiling instead of her. This job could wear at him. Another year of the Hunger Games was about to begin. Another Victor that he would have to keep alive. Another year of death, continuing in perpetuity.

"If you've got a better plan." He told her, "I'd love to hear it."

**A.N: So, this is my new SYOT! This started on a whim but I am excited about it and hope you guys are also excited about it. The app is in my profile, please fill it out and PM it to me. Also review. I like reviews! Ok, I'm going to stop talking now. Just… SYOT! Yes!**


	2. The Best Laid Plans

**A.N.: Hello again! Thank you for those who have showed interest in my story. I am very excited and can't wait to get things really rolling. I have already gotten a few tributes and they are great! But the submission process has led me to notice some things. So first of all, I'd like to mention right here that this is not a first come first serve story. I will be choosing the tributes that best suit the story. That means that I am not going to do reservations. If you feel pressed for time feel free to send me a PM and I can hold off on a decision a bit, but I want everyone to submit whoever they want wherever they want. Second, there is no limit to how many tributes you can send me. Particularly because I'm going to be picking so I don't know how many of yours I'll actually accept. But please keep in mind that the more I accept the more likely at least one of them will die in the bloodbath. Lastly, I added some more questions to the form. If you already submitted, don't worry too much about it. But people seemed to want to give me more information so I tried to expand it a little.**

**Without further ado, here's the next prologue chapter!**

Chapter 2, The Best Laid Plans

Minerva Thornewood sat in a large and admittedly rather comfortable chair as she thumbed through a rather heavy anatomy book. It was not something she knew all that much about, but the front illustration had caught her eye, and the diagrams inside seemed to be of just as good quality. Most likely it was incredibly useful for anyone in the medical field. For Minerva, it was merely a useful distraction until the man she was waiting for arrived home.

Finally she heard the sound of a door opening as he did just that. Minerva didn't move, but focused her attention to the sounds. At first it was the normal rustling of someone coming home after a long time away. But then, there it was. The pause. The deep, lingering stillness as he began to ask himself 'did I leave the light to the library on?'.

He hadn't, of course. Minerva knew this very well as the switch was not in a particularly intuitive area and she had spent an embarrassingly long time stumbling around in the dark trying to find it. If the man had arrived then, things would not have gone well. Which was why she had arrived an hour before he had been expected, just to make sure that the scene was set. To ensure that she looked absolutely perfect.

When she was a child, Minerva had always stared at other girls and wondered why they had been so into clothes and makeup. They struck her as little butterflies, beautiful but helpless. It was something she never wanted to be. She was always far more interested in the children in the hunger games, wielding weapons or finding ways to survive. The golden cage of the capitol felt empty to her. Something she found herself resenting.

But as she grew, she began to realize what lie underneath the pastels and confetti of the Capitol, the harsh unbending steel that went into making sure that everything worked, that little girls could run around in pretty dresses and not worry for their lives. That was when she realized the importance of appearances. Image was a good half of any war, it turned out. And it was also rather good at distracting your enemies from the other half you were working on.

Which was why Minerva had broken into the house of one of her employees and waited for an hour for him to come home and find her perusing his anatomy books in his library. He was not an enemy, not yet of course, but that was entirely because of Minerva's careful cultivation of how she appeared to him at all times. Cold, ruthless, and prepared to exploit her power over him.

To his credit, Dax seemed to know a thing or two about appearances as well. When he walked into the library, his face was calm and composed. If she hadn't been looking for it, she wouldn't have noticed the fear in his eyes. It would have fooled almost anyone. But Minerva had spent years perfecting the art of being the exception to the rule.

"Madame President." Dax said, tone barely even shaking, "It's a pleasure to see you."

"And I you." She answered, leaning forward slightly. Her posture was straight and her movements controlled. Everything she did sent a message. Every microscopic action was designed to remind Dax exactly where he stood with her, which was on incredibly uneven footing, "I hope that your visit with Victor Offerseed went well?"

"It did."

The man didn't elaborate at once, so Minerva carefully arched one eyebrow.

"Her condition is stable, and although I can't say if or when she'll try again, I don't think it will be any time soon."

"That is excellent to hear, Dax. Thank you very much." She smiled, which was appropriate. But she wondered if perhaps it was too wide, or her posture had begun to slink. Because the tension went out of Dax's shoulders and he seemed brave enough to speak his mind.

"She's not the only one with increased suicidal ideations, though. I've noticed a rather suspicious increase in attempts this past year and was wondering if you knew anything about it."

"I'm sure it's nothing important." Minerva tried to wave off the conversation. But somewhere the balance to the conversation had shifted. He forgot who was in control.

"I think it might be. My job is to keep the victors alive so that you don't have a scandal on your hands. And they seem pretty keen on trying to make one. Prevention is always better, so if you know anything at all you should tell me before you have a rebellion on your hands."

There it was. The opening. Nothing went perfectly, of course. Appearance could only get you so far. After that, it was a matter of knowing your opponent and exploiting their weaknesses. Minerva knew Dax very well. She had hand picked him for this position herself, partially because of his medical talent and partially because of how his position made him so easy control. And he had accidentally given her a moment to remind him.

"You would know all about rebellion, wouldn't you Mr. Heavensbee?" she stated, her voice dropping to a whisper, "Perhaps the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

His calm demeanor shattered and for a moment she could see the stark helpless fear in his face. She smirked slightly, though she did not enjoy putting him in such a state. But occasionally to get people to move the correct direction, she needed to appear at least partially sadistic.

"I'm sorry Madame President. I was out of line."

Minerva stood up, gently placing the anatomy book on a table and closing the space between her and Dax. The balance was restored. She was in control of the direction of the conversation again, and so could afford to be slightly generous.

"On the contrary, you have good instincts. I have heard rumors that a rebellion might indeed be starting up again. I know that given your duties, you may not have endeared yourself to many victors. But you are often in intimate meetings with them. I need you to monitor their activity. Let me know if you come across something suspicious."

Dax's face became almost unreadable then. "You want me to spy on them."

"Will that be too much for you?" Minerva asked.

He hesitated longer than she would have liked. But she supposed it was only natural. Dax was underneath everything a good man. Of course he did not want to betray what little trust he had built up among the victors.

But for all his talent and his seriousness, Dax was just another butterfly. He did not see the big picture, did not understand the cycles that they had been caught in, and how the whole capitol would pay for it if the cycles didn't stop. Minerva was among the few who could see where Panem needed to be led, so she would lead it there. And if she had to chip away at the humanity of those most useful to her to do it, it would be a worthy sacrifice.

"No. I can do it." Dax answered. Like she knew he would.

"Wonderful. Now I do enjoy our little chats, but I am afraid I'm quite busy. Please call my secretary. I'd like to hear a full progress report next week."

The man was too shaken to answer. He merely nodded as Minerva walked out his house.

She kept herself composed for a full fifteen minutes after that as she travelled back to her quarters. But the minute that the door to her bedroom was locked she released a loud frustrated scream.

Dax was intelligent. It was part of what made him useful, but it also made him dangerous. He was coming closer to the full picture than he needed to be. And if any role learned too much too soon, her carefully constructed plan could easily fall to pieces.

Which meant she would have to talk to Mr. Wren. Dax was right, victors were of little use to her if they were dead. And completely broken was not better. Sometimes she regretted giving the man access to the victors. Mr. Wren was another useful party, and desire for those who had survived the hunger games was a useful thread to tug on. But he was starting to get a little out of control.

The reapings would be tomorrow, and they would take up all of her energy. But the day after would be clearer as the tributes arrived in the capitol. She would talk to him then. Minerva was far too close to her goal to have anyone stop her. Not even Mr. Wren, powerful though he may be.

After all, the capitol itself depended on it.


	3. Behind the Throne

Chapter 3. Behind the Throne

The door to Nautilus' office was solid wood. A thick dark cherry with an ornate door knocker and the words 'Nautilus Plume: Director of Sponsorships' written in gold lettering at eye level. However, as Nautilus opened that door, se idly thought that 'Nautilus Plume: Glorified Secretary' would be more appropriate.

President Thornewood was sitting in ser desk, playing around with a perpetual motion machine that Nautilus' sponsorship team had bought ser after the success of the last hunger games. Why did she seem so obsessed with breaking into places? Usually it was Nautilus who was helping her get past various locked doors in order to surprise someone into compliance. Se wondered who the president had asked to get through this one. Though most likely she just had a key.

"What do you want Madame President?" Nautilus asked.

"So abrupt. It's one of the things I like most about you Nautilus. Never one for small talk."

"You're complimenting me." Se said, "It must be big."

"Everything is big right now." President Thornewood answered, and she rose from her chair with a look in her eyes that Nautilus recognized by now. Se had got her going, and se would have to listen to gush about her plan for the next five minutes or so. Nautilus supposed se didn't mind. Se found it fairly charming how passionate the president was. Politicians usually started out idealistic, but after a few years that always seemed to be ground out of them. The realities of office often killed any goals of changing things for the better. Yet President Thornewood seemed have held onto it. Nautilus had to admit se admired that about her, even though at the moment se was a little bit annoyed. The president's lofty ambitions usually meant more grunt work for ser, after all.

"You've heard the Rumors, Nautilus." she continued, "Unrest in the districts. A shortage of peacekeepers. An attempted strike in district five. Unless we proceed very carefully, the Capitol won't be here in five years."

"So your plan to stop that is… to start a rebellion." Nautilus said dryly. Se had heard this before, but it did no good to try and speed the president through it. This plan was a passion of hers, and it was best to just humor her.

"Yes. A controlled burn stops a forest fire. If we do this right, not only will we be able to save Panem from its current crisis, we'll be able to fix it. Topple this broken system entirely."

"This is where you tell me what you need from me today." Nautilus said. President Thornewood looked momentarily embarrassed.

"I know I ask a lot from you. But you're the only person I can trust."

"That wasn't a no, Madame President. What do you want me to do?"

The smile returned to the president's face. "The reapings are soon, and as director of sponsorships you're going to have more information about them than the average capitolite. I need you to be on the lookout for anyone who would help us with our plans."

Us. Our. Nautilus was never entirely sure how se felt when the president included ser in the credit of this grand scheme of hers. It had primarily been Madame Thornewood's idea, though Nautilus had to admit that most of the logististics fell to ser, and se had added a couple details on occasion. Still, it was a surreal experience. Very few people were willing to credit ser about anything.

Nautilus had grown up poor. Capitol poor was an entirely different thing from the districts of course, but even in the center of the glimmering city things were not equal. Se had needed to fight and scrap for every bit of dignity se had. Constantly underestimated, tolerated only because of ser extreme organization and talent, Nautilus had learned to take care of serself. But then came President Thornewood, eager and naive and completely in awe of Nautilus' abilities. Within a year of knowing her, se had a job as an assistant at capitol tv. Five short years later, and se had control of the entire ebb and flow of sponsorship items for the hunger games.

In a world where no one looked out for each other, Minerva Thornewood looked after those who were loyal to her. And so despite Nautilus not being entirely sure how se felt about the woman personally, she had earned ser loyalty.

"So you want me to find a Mockingjay?" Se asked.

"Perhaps not quite as divisive as all that. We don't want the rebellion to succeed after all. The last one almost did. Try less for Katniss Everdeen and more for Hebe Dagnus."

"I can do that." Nautilus agreed, "Do you need anything else?"

President Thornewood bit her lip slightly in thought. "It's my brother's birthday this weekend. The whole family will be there to celebrate. You should come."

"You're inviting me to a birthday party."

"Yes."

"In the middle of pregames."

"Come of Nautilus. You do more for me in an hour than most can in a year. You can afford to come to a birthday party."

Nautilus thought of six different excuses se could use, and five spontaneous emergencies se could fake in order to get out of the situation. But as always, there was something about President Thornewood that made it impossible for Ser to say no.

"I'll think about it." Se said. The president nodded, then left the office so that Nautilus was alone with ser thoughts.

Find a candidate among the tributes this year capable of running the president's pet revolution. It was a strange and not particularly easy task. But se was up for it.

After all, the reason that Nautilus Plume was in such demand was because se always produced results.

**AN: Hello again! I took a little break because of holidays but I am back again and still in search of LOTS of people. Please submit. Please ask other people to submit. Please read and review and all that stuff. I have two more prologue chapters in mind, and after that I'll start with whoever we have at the moment. So don't worry, all this politics stuff will be replaced with games stuff soon. Anyway, I love you all and thank you for reading!**


	4. A Broken Clock

Chapter 4. A Broken Clock

Hebe was in a rush. It was hard to say if she was ever not in a rush, but at the moment she really needed to hurry. The train was going to depart in half an hour, and the station was twenty minutes away. Well twenty minutes by a normal person's standards. Hebe always had a knack for finding the best routes, slipping through gaps in buildings and dodging around foot traffic.

Dodging was what she was doing now, dashing through the hallway of the Games Administration building, a small envelope in her hands. She was going so fast she could have sworn that one of the faces she passed was actually President Thornewood. Maybe. It had been raining, so her thick curly hair was sticking to her face and blocking her eyesight. Everyone looked like the President, or the milkman, or the district two boy that she had killed with his own sword in the middle of the arena. Even without her being in a hurry and blinking through rain, things could get mixed up. Time could slip by or vanish altogether. People had been calling her crazy since she was a child, but now she wondered if she really was. Not that any of this mattered. She had a visit to make and a train to catch and if she missed either of those things would go very badly for her.

Thankfully she reached her destination in short order: The office of Nautilus Plume. It was late, but Plume was known for working fairly late, so Hebe was hoping se was still there. Thankfully, she was right. As she knocked on the door she heard the familiar 'come in' of the head of sponsorships.

Nautilus looked up as Hebe entered, and the look on ser face was an expression that she had seen many times in her life: Nautilus had just been talking about her. That said, the expression wasn't something that Hebe had seen for a while. It had been almost thirteen years since her Hunger Games. Hebe Dagnus was a name people knew, but few knew the details of. That was for the best. She very much hated being pinned down. As such it was a little irritating that Nautilus was looking at her like se was staring at a ghost. It made her wonder just what the conversation entailed.

"Shouldn't you be back in Six by now?" Nautilus asked. Hebe shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm taking an express in half an hour. But I need a favor from you." She dropped the envelope on Nautilus' desk, then sat down on the chair across from ser, trying to appear serious. Unfortunately serious was something Hebe was notoriously bad at. It had been hardly five seconds before she was fidgeting and tapping her foot.

"I need that delivered to District Ten. Before the reapings started" She said. Nautilus picked it up and held it to the light, trying to see the outline inside. She could tell that se was skeptical, and Hebe didn't blame ser. It was the night before the reaping and she had come in well after normal business hours looking like a drowned rat requesting an almost impossible delivery. But it turned out that what she needed was rarer than expected, and it had taken until about five minutes ago for Hebe to track it down.

"We're not a post office." Nautilus replied, "The sponsor channels are only supposed to be used for Games business."

"This is for the Games." Hebe insisted, though was suitably cowed by a raise of Nautilus' eyebrow. Anyone who knew Hebe would have been surprised anyone could have such an effect on her. But Hebe was eternally wary of the head of sponsorships. There was something suspicious about ser, something more to sem than quiet professionalism. Hebe had kept enough secrets to know when someone else was doing it too.

"Well. Sort of." she amended, "Please. It's for Daphne."

"I see." Nautilus said, and shook the envelope so that the scraping of metal could be heard, "And how did Daphne get to District Ten in the first place?"

Oops.

"The post office?" Hebe offered. Nautilus rolled ser eyes but said nothing. Instead se shifted ser weight and looked intently at Hebe. The gaze made her uncomfortable.

"What makes you who you are Hebe?" se asked.

Hebe tilted her head slightly in confusion. Of all the questions she was expecting, that was not one of them. "DNA I guess."

"I'm being serious." Nautilus said, and Hebe could tell.

"Do you remember my victory speech?" She asked the capitolite.

"I remember what it was." Nautilus answered, "The names of the fallen that year, nothing else. But twenty three names is a lot to remember, especially thirteen years down the line."

"I remember them." Hebe said, "Every single one. And every tribute from district six since. I suppose that's what makes me Hebe. I remember."

Nautilus seemed to take that in, then suddenly smirked and raised an eyebrow again. "Then you remember that you need to get to your express train so that you aren't late for the reapings?"

"Oh nutcracker." Hebe said, lunging towards the door. She stopped briefly at the door frame, "Will you get that to ten? Please? Pretty please with cinnamon and sugar?"

Nautilus waved her off, and Hebe took that as yes. So without any further distractions she started the long run to the train station.

**AN: Hello again! So I said there were going to be two more capitol chapters. But it turns out there will be two more from now on. Don't worry though, we'll get to the games soon I promise. Thankfully, we're about halfway done with tributes so by the time I'm finished with the prologue chapters we'll be able to get on with things right away! I have absolutely loved the submissions so far, and greatly encourage everyone to apply more. Thank you for reading!**


	5. Idle Hands

Chapter 5. Idle Hands

It was four in the morning when Hebe called. For the sixth time. Kaenas highly considered ignoring it, like he had her other five calls. But by now it seemed fairly obvious that she would just keep calling until he answered her. So he did.

"You woke me up." Kaenas said as the video screen displayed an image of Hebe Dagnus, sitting cross legged on the table of her dining car.

"No you weren't." she replied, "It's the night before reaping and you have Daphne. I know you Kaenas. This is probably on your screen near the forge and everything."

"It is definitely not." Kaenas grumbled, and tried to adjust the video screen so that it didn't show his forge in the background.

Hebe showed a rare moment of tact and didn't gloat over being right. "So did you get the parts? Were they the right ones? I had to go to a specialty shop and everything. Said she was obsolete. Obsolete, can you believe it?"

"It's a ten year old Crossbow, Hebe. Honestly it's a wonder that it's repairable at all."

He suddenly had a strong flashback of the very first time he had ever met Hebe Dagnus. It had been on her victory tour. Somehow she had ditched her escort to bother him at his forge, clutching the silver crossbow to her chest like a child with a teddy bear. The flight groove had developed a crack, rendering it unable to fire. Hebe had somehow remembered Kaenas was a blacksmith from watching old games footage and begged him to fix it. At first he had been distrustful and resentful of her. In his opinion the only people who would watch games that old were those who craved bloodshed. But he fixed her crossbow anyway, hoping he would never have to see her again.

How times had changed.

"Thank you for doing this." Hebe said, "Daphne is my second best friend in the world."

"Who is your best one, a rug?" He asked. It came out harsher than intended. He had meant to diffuse the sad reality of that statement with a joke. But he thought that maybe it was overstepping a bit.

Hebe didn't seem bothered at all, "Why you of course."

Kaenas did what he always did when he was particularly overcome by emotion: he grumbled, "I'm an old man." He told her, "And I'm nobody's friend. Least of all a best friend."

"Ok. Well in that case not-best-friend," Hebe continued with her usual optimism, "Are you going to be at my party in the Capitol?"

Kaenas paused. He had been a victor for a very long time. In that time, he had gotten very good at recognizing double talk. It seemed Hebe had gotten fairly good at speaking it. There was a party, he knew. Hebe often gathered a hodgepodge of victors to watch the games together and comfort each other when their mentees died. Nut while she would probably be thrilled to see him there, it wasn't what she was asking. Her question was far more dangerous than that.

He was old enough to have seen two attempted revolutions. The first one actually took place during his games. In the aftermath of Haymitch Abernathy's win, those that were resentful of the Capitol banded together. He had seen the beginning of it, if not the end, as he had been in the arena at the time. Far too caught up in his own survival to worry about politics.

The second time, he was personally asked to participate. He had been standing in an elevator during the 70th pregames when someone passed him a mockingjay pin. He had refused, seeing no reason to uproot his life for something that seemed so unlikely to succeed.

It turned out that it had been a wise decision. The rebellion, led by Katniss Everdeen, was far more successful than Kaenas had ever thought they would be. Until she was murdered, strangled to death by her own district partner Peeta Mellark. The moment she was dead, Capitol troops invaded her headquarters in District Thirteen. They killed the remaining leaders, then herded the survivors back to the bombed out husk of District Twelve, where they had all been ever since.

A lot of victors had died during those times. Kaenas lost many good friends. But he had kept his head down, away from all that nonsense. He stuck with himself and that was how he had grown to be so old.

Yet here Hebe was, still childlike despite being at least thirty by now, asking him to join her new resistance. It had been over twenty years since the last time someone had asked him, and there was little to convince him that this one would end any differently. Except Hebe. He would never admit it of course, but he was very fond of her. There was something underneath her erratic demeanor that made him trust her. Trust was probably one of the most dangerous emotions out there as far as Kaenas was concerned. Second only to hope.

Yet as he looked over at Hebe, looking at him with eager eyes, he realized that she made him hope too.

"Sure. I'll go." He said, "But you better make sure it's worth it."

"I will! Cross my heart."

"If anything bad happens at this party, I will personally blame you."

"Well it is my party. That seems fair. But you won't regret it. I promise." Hebe said.

He nodded at her, and they talked for a few minutes later about nothing in particular until she finally hung up. Kaenas went back to his forge and continued to work on Hebe's crossbow. He needed to have it finished by the time he headed to the Capitol today. She would want him to bring it to her party, and the resistance meeting that would inevitably happen after.

It was foolish to do so, but Kaenas was looking forward to it.

**AN: Hi! Only one more of these, then we get to your lovely tributes! I'll try to get it out fast so that we can properly start. We do have a fair amount of tribute slots left, particularly males, so if you're reading this but haven't submitted a tribute yet there is still you much for reading this everybody, I'll see you with a new chapter soon. **


	6. Goes the Spoils

**AN: Hello! So we finally made it. This is the last prologue chapter, and next time I post we actually get to games stuff. Excitement! Now I have been a little lax on content warnings so far. But this one requires it for suicidal ideation, forced prostitution, torture, and I think there's a couple of references to self harm. So just a general heads up there. But aside from that, thank you very much for reading and please review.**

Chapter 6: Goes the Spoils

At some point in the night the clanging of Kaenas' workshop had died off, leaving the victor's village of district ten in a tense silence. Blaire Offerseed preferred the noise. It distracted her from her thoughts, which had been distractingly intrusive for some time now.

For a while she stayed in her bed, pretending to sleep and drinking in the silence. Before the Hunger Games she had liked how quiet District Ten could get. It was peaceful in the silence, a way to be by herself and not care about her three other siblings. But now it was different. Now she craved anything that kept her away from the nothingness, where her mind would invent nightmares just to keep itself occupied. And if it ran out of nightmares, it would play memories.

Blaire gave up eventually and started to get dressed. The sun's rays were beginning to hit her window, so it she decided that she could justify it as merely being an early riser. She justified a lot of things lately. The reason why she had moved her siblings, her parents, and her grandparents all into the same house with her had nothing to do with how living alone caused her anxiety didn't talk to her old friends because she was busy and not because she had changed so much that she wasn't sure they would even recognize her any more.

And if someone saw through all of her false reassurances she would pacify them with her biggest justification of all: That she became this way because of the games.

It was an easier explanation than the truth. And a better one in her opinion. She had survived a war zone with twenty three other contestants. She had outthought and outmaneuvered people who had been training for that arena their entire she had first come out of the games, she had been fractured but fine. Her first suicide attempt wasn't even serious. She had just been bored and filled with adrenaline and with Dax watching her like a hawk she had decided to give them both something to do.

Blaire's ego was actually rather bruised at the fact that one man broke her when the entire Hunger Games could not. She had met Mr. Wren merely hours after she had been crowned victor. President Thornewood had introduced the two of them and made it clear that she would be unable to refuse his requests.

She went to the mirror in her bathroom and examined the thin white scar that ran down her neck. The Capitol's medical prowess was extraordinary, and many of the things Mr. Wren did to her over their many meetings had been erased. In a strange way she was grateful that they couldn't fix that one. It was something that she could touch, could see. There was a relief to the scars not just being in her mind.

A knock on her door disrupted Blaire from her thoughts, and she went to the entranceway to open it. Kaenas stood in the doorway, dark eyes bleary from a lack of sleep. "I saw your light turn on." he said.

"You don't have to look after me. I'm fine." Blaire snapped.

"I'm not here to look after you." Kaenas said with about as much vitriol, "I'm here for cookies."

The word cookies was such a stark contrast to the crotchety manner of her fellow victor that Blaire was left speechless for several moments out of sheer confusion. Eventually she realized that Dax had mentioned that one of the victors from six had persuaded him to bring her cookies. She wasn't entirely sure how Kaenas knew, but it was too early in the morning to argue.

"Right. They're in the kitchen." she said and casually waved him into her house, "Just don't wake anyone up. We've got three eligible kids living here and I want to give them as much sleep as possible."

Kaenas nodded in agreement, and tried to walk quietly down the hall. Given his size and muscle mass he had limited success, but Blaire at least appreciated the effort. They made their way to the kitchen, where Blaire used a stepladder to retrieve the dish from a high up cupboard. Such precautions were necessary when a lot of people lived in the same house.

She placed the plate, wrapped in a clear foil, on the table and opened the envelope that had been taped on top of it. There was a letter inside it, the words crooked but legible.

'Congratulations on not dying' it read 'or perhaps condolences. Either way. You're not dead, eat cookies. Love, Hebe Dagnus' For the first time in a while, Blaire laughed.

"Yeah, she's an odd one." Kaenas said, unwrapping the plate of cookies, "But the baking's good. Now at least. She was rather terrible when she started. Ten years will make you good at anything."

Blaire took a cookie off the plate and tried one. She had to agree, it was rather tasty. Although there was a part of her was already rebelling against it. As if feeling happy for even a second would mean she had forgotten everything that had happened to her.

"Why are you here?" She asked Kaenas. The older man gestured to the cookies, Blaire didn't believe that for one second and merely stared at him.

"It's your first reaping as a mentor. Figured I'd check in on you."

"I have enough people checking in on me for a lifetime." Blaire said.

"I guess that does happen when you try to kill yourself four times in one year."

"Five." Blaire corrected him.

Kaenas shrugged, "I don't really care if it was a hundred. It's none of my business."

Blaire wondered why he was so keen on this topic if it wasn't his business, but she said nothing.

"I am curious though. Why so quick? Most people's survival instinct keeps them more or less together for a year. Why get through the games to give up now?"

For a split second, she considered telling him. If only to have someone, anyone know. Perhaps if she loaded some of that pain on to someone else it would keep her up less at night. And she imagined Kaenas would understand. Blaire had seen his games, he was quite attractive when he was younger. She doubted he had to deal with anyone quite like Mr. Wren, but the foundation was there.

She quickly discounted the thought. People already looked at her with pity. Her fellow victor was one of the few people whose eyes didn't overflow with it. She wasn't going to give that up for something as pedestrian as a connection.

So perhaps half the truth. A cracked open door that she could still shut at any time. "Because I'm not a survivor." she said, "I'm a Victor. I won. And I intend to keep winning."

"So you think that death is the best way to solve whatever it is you're going through?" He asked.

"It's the most straightforward at least."

Kaenas scoffed, then tried to pass it off as choking on a cookie.

"What?" Blaire demanded.

"I just find it funny." Kaenas said, "Watching your games, I got the feeling you were a trap master. You killed three different people with one trap or another, including a career. So hearing you say that you're trying the most straightforward solution… just surprising I guess. Doesn't seem your style."

Blaire wanted to be angry. To shout in his face or smash the plate over his head. But her siblings were still sleeping. Also, he was right. That was probably why she was so furious at him, but it didn't change that he had a point. Blaire had never been particularly strong or fast. But she had been clever and she knew how to win. It had gotten her through the Hunger Games. Perhaps trying to die so many times was just playing into Mr. Wren's hands. In the capitol, everything was a great deal subtler. A suicide attempt was perhaps the closest thing to brute force they had. And she had just been pounding her head against a wall with it.

Her mind went back to the conversation she had with Dax. How he implied that helping the female district from ten this year could potentially distract attention from her. She wasn't sure things worked quite like that, but it was something to consider. So far, Blaire had considered death a victory condition, a way to stop her pain. To make all of the memories in her head from screaming at her when the night was too quiet. But then Mr. Wren would move on to someone else. If she died, he won. And Blaire Offerseed was not a loser.

She was going to find a way to stop him. And she was going to build herself back up again. The fact that it was out of sheer pettiness didn't bother her.

"I suppose it's about time to see who's on the chopping block this year." she said.

Kaenas looked at her, clearly confused by her change in demeanor. But he merely nodded, stood up, then offered his hand.

Blaire took it.


	7. Love and Devotion: Before the Reaping

**Diamond Stark, District One**

Diamond was in that awkward state between asleep and awake when he heard the sound of first he thought it was his mother or one of his sisters, but they were too heavy. Too certain. Sapphire and Maia, were both scurriers. They had quick light steps that would dart across the floor like little whispers. Something they seemed to get from their mother, who always walked quickly and without much of a pattern. And Jewel was always soft and hesitant, coming into the room slowly. These footsteps thudded slightly, steady and rhythmic. It was similar to his eldest sister Antoinette, but she no longer lived at the house. Even then, it didn't have quite the same gait.

Which left him only one conclusion: It was an intruder. Diamond wasn't entirely sure why anyone would break into his room in the morning, but he did have enemies. Not all of them quite as clever as he was. Keeping his eyes closed, he listened to the footsteps again to triangulate just where the stranger was. Then he grabbed one of the darts he kept by his bedside and threw.

Titania Topaz, his district partner, stood in the middle of his room with her hands clasped around the thrown dart. It was only five or six inches from her face.

"Nice aim." she commented dryly, "Is it poisoned?"

Diamond shook his head, "Too much of a risk that something like this happens and I accidentally kill an overzealous caroler or something. It does hurt though. How did you get in here?"

"Sapphire." Titania explained and dropped the dart on a nearby desk. Diamond couldn't particularly blame his sister. Over the four months since he had been promoted to the tribute for District one, both he and his family had seen an awful lot of Titania. They had been training from sunrise to sunset, often staying at one house or the other for dinner. After all, they were running a bit behind.

Traditionally, the chosen tributes were given an entire year of notice. There was a ceremony mere hours after the reaping to declare who would go next. A year ago, Titania Topaz and Pizazz Wayfinder had been chosen as the tributes of the 93rd Hunger Games. Diamond hadn't thought much of it. He was a year block behind, competing to be in the 94th games and the second ever mini quell. But Pizazz had broken his leg with only four months until the Games, and a projected three month healing time. It was decided that they couldn't risk someone who would have to spend that much time not training, and called in his alternate.

Diamond wasn't exactly sure what happened to that alternate, though there were rumors. All he knew was that less than a week after Pizazz had injured himself, he had been brought in as the tribute for the 93rd games. Titania and he had been working together tirelessly since then.

"I didn't mean to wake you. I just thought we could walk to the reaping together." Titania said, "Show some district solidarity."

"The cameras probably aren't going to pick that up." He replied, and Titania gave him a smile that he was sure had probably swayed many hearts.

"Maybe not. But it's the principle of the thing."

"Also Alabastor is coming."

Titania stopped at that, her smile fading slightly, "Right, I suppose boyfriend trumps district partner. But I am going to ask your mom for breakfast."

"I'm sure she'll be fine with that."

Titania picked the dart back up and threw it at Diamond, which he caught, and went down to his kitchen with a slight smirk.

**Tanner Kelly, District Seven**

Sun streamed out of his window, which caused Tanner to wake up abruptly out of shock. He always had to get ready before dawn in order to be at work on time. His must not have set his alarm the night before. Again. He had a good job and his boss liked him, but if he was late again it wouldn't be good.

He checked his clock: 6:05. If he rushed he might be able to make on his clothes he dashed out the door yelling a hurried goodbye as he passed the living room where the rest of his family were having breakfast and began to jog towards the lumber mill.

His work was not far, but he liked to give himself extra time to enjoy breakfast or walk leisurely there as the sun was rising. Plus, mixups like this happened to him quite a bit. He hated that he was so forgetful, that he never managed to be properly organized. But he had tried many techniques, and the only thing that had worked was to prepare for when they all time was one of those ways he adjusted for himself, and he was glad for it today.

Except when he got to the yard, there was no one in sight.

The lumber yard was one of the biggest employers in District Seven. It didn't make any sense that no one was here. He had never seen it so empty. Like a ghost town. He checked the large clock in the center of the yard to make sure he hadn't somehow mistaken the time. He hadn't.

"This is an all new low for you." a voice said from behind him. Tanner turned to see his brother Nash wheezing slightly. He must have run after him after Tanner had left the house.

"You know why no one's here?" Tanner asked, although he hated that he had to. Nash was an asshole, plain and simple. And Tanner had very little patience for him on a good day. Having to ask him for help was practically asking for a rude insult or three.

Nash laughed, a wild cruel cackle. "You still haven't figured it out? No one works on reaping day, you moron. I know you forget everything, but you forgot reaping day? That's pathetic Tanner even for you."

"Shut up Nash." he said. How did he forget that today it was reaping? It's not like he hadn't known it was coming. He had stayed up late last night, fighting nausea at the possibility that he might be chosen for the Hunger Games. It was why he had thought maybe he hadn't wound his alarm clock up. Yet somehow the dots hadn't connected.

"Are you worried now that I'm too old to volunteer for you?" Nash jeered.

"As if you ever would."

"You never know. Maybe I would have taken pity on you. I'd hate to see you forget about the mines and blow yourself up before the countdown ended."

"Shut _up_ Nash!" In order to bring the point home, he tackled his brother to the ground. Nash let out a surprised cry, then punched Tanner in the face.

They rolled around in the dirt for a while, punching and kicking each other as they had done so many times. Tanner was no stranger to fights with Nash, and had gotten rather adept at dealing with the larger boy. Within a few minutes he had his older brother pinned to the ground.

"All right. You made your point. Let me up already." Nash said, and Tanner obliged, "Now let's get you home. So you can eat some breakfast and maybe try to put some meat on your eye so it doesn't turn black during the reaping."

Tanner tried to put Nash's jeers out of his head. He always talked like this on reaping day. Callously joking about what would happen if Tanner or their younger brother Garrett were reaped. He had thought that he had gotten used to it by now. But something about this year turned his stomach. He had no tesserae, his family was well off enough. But that didn't always save people.

He sighed deeply and headed home, hoping that this year he would be lucky and his name wouldn't be called.

**Dash Grester, District Two**

"Maybe that's enough for today?" Porter asked, putting aside his sword and sitting down on a nearby rock.

Dash wasn't entirely sure, but it was probably a good idea to take a break. Most people weren't training on the day of the reaping. It was considered a day of celebration in District Two. There would be parties in honor of the two tributes lasting several days. Dash hadn't been invited to any of them, which was perfectly acceptable to him. There was no one in his district he actually liked, aside from Porter. And if things went smoothly, he would be on the train to the Capitol before any of them started.

"Maybe." he said, and sat down beside Porter. He laughed slightly and gave him a quick kiss.

"What are you thinking about?" Porter asked.

"Just wondering who the council chose this year."

Every year the two careers who got to compete in the Games were chosen by the Tribute Council, a committee of ten to twelve victors and trainers. They told the tribute in secret and no one else in the district knew until they volunteered at the Reaping. This was said to be in order to prevent sabotage. You couldn't push the first in line down the stairs if you didn't actually know who that was.

But Dash was certain there was another reason. If no one in the District knew who was volunteering, they wouldn't know if some outlier had volunteered instead. The council would just smile knowingly as if it had been their plan all along and the only other person who would know was the poor sap who wasn't fast enough.

"It doesn't matter." Porter insisted, "No one's as good as you."

"That's true." He said, "But I do still wonder. I hope it's not Benedict."

"It wouldn't be Benedict. He has no stamina. And his face looks like a horse."

"Don't say something like that." Dash said, "You'll offend the horses."

Porter laughed. It was one of the things Dash loved most about him, a bright tinkling sound that always made you feel like you were in on the joke. However that laugh was sharply cut off and Porter's face paled dramatically. Dash turned to see what had gotten him in such a state.

Coming towards them, eyes hard as steel, was Caecilius Ballast. Caecilius was one of District Two's most notorious victors, and a member of this year's Council. He was also one of the trainers Dash was closest with before he and Porter left the Academy.

"Dash. Walk with me." He said. Dash thought of himself as a fairly brave person, but he didn't have the strength to refuse Caecilius. He gave Porter a kiss then got up to walk beside his former trainer.

"What do you want to talk to me about Sir?" Dask asked.

"Don't play coy with me. I know you're planning on volunteering." The weather hadn't changed, but Dash suddenly shivered nonetheless. Caecilius either didn't notice or didn't care, "Do you know what happens when a career volunteers when they're not chosen?"

"You pretend that they were chosen all along and no one knows any better." he said. This made Caecilius chuckle a bit, but somehow that didn't break the tension.

"Yes." Caecilius answered, "And no. Do you remember the girl five or six years ago? Daphne I think. A little younger than usual. Brave, confident. Looked terrible in the parade. Overshadowed by the careers in private training. Didn't get a single sponsorship the entire games and when she died in fifteenth place no one remembered her. District Two is lucky to have many resources. But those resources are reserved by those who follow the rules."

"But you know I'm the best candidate Sir. If you send anyone else, you're wasting those resources."

"Perhaps you should have thought about that before leaving the academy."

"Well perhaps the academy shouldn't have been full of homophobic assholes."

"This isn't like you Dash." Caecilius' voice got sharp and menacing, "One of the reasons you're a good candidate is because you think things through. Use logic. I personally don't care who you date, but you can't let it cause you to lose your edge."

"My edge is fine." Dash retorted.

"If it really was fine you would listen to me. You would listen to the council. We make our choices for a reason."

Dash wanted to retort, but his old mentor might have had a point. If he did this, he would receive the ire of the entire council. It would be subtle, but it would be there. He wasn't sure it would convince him not to volunteer. But it was worth thinking about.

"I… I understand what you're saying Sir. And I didn't mean to imply that your judgement was wrong."

"Good." Caecilius said, "Now that that's over with, would you like to know who we chose?"

"Am I allowed?" He asked.

"In this particular situation, yes. After much deliberation, we've decided to choose Dash Grester."

The name almost didn't register at first. "Wait. Me? Then why did you just put me through all that?"

"Because if you had continued to be as reckless as you had been these past few months I might have had a last minute change in decision. But I knew you'd see reason. Just know that the council can see talent. And everything worth doing is worth doing properly. Remember that."

"I will sir. I will."

**AN: We finally made it to the tributes. Yay! This chapter came out all boys, but I promise that won't happen again. So a quick rundown of how this is going to work. Each chapter is going to have three POVs and cover a certain milestone. Next chapter will be the reapings proper. This will be a bit quicker than having a reaping for everyone but will still allow everyone to get to know all the tributes a tad before the blood starts. Please comment what you think about these cuties and thank you so much for reading!**


	8. Karma and Curses: The Reaping

**Violet Beckingridge, District Eleven**

Violet winced as the needle punctured her skin. She didn't know why this got her every time, usually she was rather good with pain. When her hands cracked and blistered while working the fields she paid it no mind. When she had fallen out of a tree picking apples a few years ago she had barely made any noise. But the little, infrequent sting of a blood sample seemed to throw her every reaping. At least she would only have to do it one more time.

She was ushered into the Amphitheater where a section had been reserved for the seventeen year old girls. The Amphitheater had been built shortly after the second rebellion, as an attempt to 'revitalize' District Eleven. It was supposed to be a meeting place and a source of recreation. Of course, surveillance had been tripled to wipe out any rebellion sympathizers, so the effort was wasted. Nowadays, it was just a crumbling piece of architecture that people only went to for the reaping.

Despite the amphitheater being quite large, the citizens of District Eleven barely fit in it. The seventeen year olds were packed together tightly like an overstuffed box of oranges, shoving each other aside for a chance to sit on the wood benches that were evenly spaced around the building.

Clover, a coworker of hers, waved Violet over and offered her a spot on the bench she was sitting on. Violet happily accepted, ignoring the jealous looks that were aimed at her from some of the other girls. There was always a pattern to the world, a sort of karma. Violet was a hard worker, diligent and thorough. And that hard work had paid off in direct and indirect ways. She had recently been promoted, overseeing whole sections of the orchard. It was enough money to keep her mother and three younger siblings afloat. They were all in good health, safe and happy. Things happened for a reason, which was why Violet didn't think much of little moments of luck like this. The world gave you what you deserved. Even tiny little moments like getting a seat when not everyone did.

The large jumbotron in the center of the Amphitheater flickered to life as their capitol Escort Europa walked onto the stage. Violet listened for a few minutes, but eventually her mind wandered and she looked around to try and find her siblings. Ida and Rosy were sitting together, though clearly bickering. That was just like them, focusing on silly things when either one of them could be reaped at any moment.

Ethan was harder to find, quieter and smaller. He stood in the back of the thirteen year olds section, dark eyes completely focused of the escort's words. As she was watching him, his face suddenly contorted into an expression of shock. They must have announced one of the tributes. She hoped that it was no one he knew. She would have to comfort him later.

Except then he heard the distinctive voices of Ida and Rosy screaming out. They were long, distressed wails. Like the cries that had happened when Violet first had to explain how the Hunger Games worked to them. The amphitheater was still, quiet except for the twins sobbing. Violet realized what was going on even before the escort said the name again.

"Violet Beckingridge."

She could see the peacekeepers coming towards her, prepared to drag her forward if they had to. Violet stood up before that, walking with what she hoped was confidence. Inside, she was reeling. After all, everything happened for a reason. You got what you deserved sooner or later.

So what did she do to deserve this?

**Tesla Nichols, District Five**

"It's going to be all right, Tesla. I promise." Her father said to her. His voice was reassuring but his eyes were scared, which caused Tesla to cling to him even tighter.

"I don't want to go. Please daddy, don't make me." She pleaded, tears in her eyes. She knew it was inappropriate. Their district escort Magnus was awkwardly standing near them, clearly trying to figure out how to get her father's attention. She should be able to keep control of her emotions. She was thirteen after all, practically a grown up. But she hated the reapings and all she wanted to do was stay by her father's side.

"We all have to do things we don't want to sweetheart." He said, "Right now I have to go help with the reaping ceremony. And you need to stand with the others your age. We'll be together after. So be a brave girl for me?"

Tesla nodded, though she didn't feel particularly brave at the moment. She was still trying to wrap her head around what exactly happens when someone dies, but one thing she knew was that she didn't want it to happen to her. She wanted to stay with her parents, to learn more at school, to become a mayor one day like her father and make things better for the people of District Five. She couldn't do any of that if she died.

Her mother had told her all last night that she wouldn't be chosen. She had no tesserae and she was young, which meant there were almost no slips in there with her name on it. But three years ago the head peacekeeper in district eight had his son reaped, so Tesla wondered if being the mayor's daughter really protected her.

But her father was right. Sometimes she had to do things she didn't want to do. So she wiped her eyes and tried to do what she was told.

"It's going to be fine." Magnus said. It was difficult to say why he was trying to cheer her up but Tesla appreciated it all the same, "Just give it a few hours. You and your father will be laughing about how worried you were in no time."

Tesla gave the escort a small smile before slipping off to the thirteen year olds section. She was still nervous. She couldn't imagine a reason why she wouldn't be nervous. But the reaping ceremony was never too long. She could manage until it was over.

Her father took the stage. "Welcome everyone. Once again we arrive at the beginning of the Hunger Games. An event of remembrance, sacrifice, and district solidarity."

The speech calmed her a little bit. Tesla had heard this speech multiple times, as her father practiced in the living room and her mother gave him notes. She wished that she could stand by his side, of course. But she could see him. She could hear him. Perhaps that could be enough.

He finished his speech and welcomed Magnus to the podium. He stood there for a moment waiting for the crowd to be quiet. Magnus was always a fan of drama. It was the only thing that reminded Tesla that he was from the Capitol, since his clothes were so reserved and when he talked she could barely hear an accent. His speech was shorter, to the point. Dramatic, but not flowery. He clearly wanted to get to the actual reaping.

Striding over to the bowls, Magnus gave an unnecessary flourish and placed his hand in the girl's lottery. He opened the piece of paper, then his already pale face got three shades paler. He looked over to Tesla's father, who was curious but concerned. Whisper among the audience started. Eventually, Magnus read the name out in a shaky voice.

"Tesla Nichols."

She knew she shouldn't cry. She knew it was important to not cry. But her worries were true and now she might die and that seemed like if there was ever a good time to sob that would be it. Then she realized that it was the one time where it would be appropriate to go to father on the podium.

So she ran. Right through all of the girls in her section, up the stairs, and into the arms of her heartbroken looking father. She clung to him, getting tears all over his fine suit. He held her tightly, whispering reassurances in her ear. She knew they were lies but that didn't really matter at this point.

Behind her she heard Magnus call the name "Demitri Donovon" and a skinny dark haired boy a few years older than her joined her on the stage. She knew it was traditional to shake hands at this point, but she didn't want to. Instead she just stuck with her father. Both the boy and Magnus seemed to understand as they both didn't pressure her.

"I now present to you Tesla Nichols and Demitri Donovon, District Five's tributes for the 93rd annual Hunger Games."

**Rust Waxy, District Nine**

No one talked to Rust as he stood in the town square of District Nine with everyone else his age, idly kicking at a pebble as people went on about sacrifice and honor. In fact while it was fairly crowded, he had managed to get an adequately sized bubble of personal space that no one seemed to dare tread into. He knew that it was just as much an act of cruelty as the name calling or the thrown objects. But he had to admit that it was one he didn't mind so much. The isolation left him to his own devices, and it meant that he didn't have to worry about losing his temper.

Rust was not entirely sure he had a temper. He never let himself find out. He didn't want to be the person everyone already thought he he lost his temper, even once, he was afraid that he would like it too much and discover just how much like his father he was. But sometimes kids could be cruel, and it would get very difficult to bottle up all of his emotions and ignore them. It was better to be alone. He liked being alone, actually. Sometimes when he was by himself his life didn't even seem all that bad.

He was still paying attention, even as he tried to see how well he could pass the pebble from one foot to another. It was a knack of his, and something that often came in handy at school. So he heard his name the first time and he understood rather quickly what it didn't scare him, or anger him. Really it seemed almost inevitable. Rust had come to terms years ago that his life was a cursed one. This was just one more step in it.

He walked towards the podium and the crowd parted for him easily, as if they were afraid they would catch something if they made contact with him. As he went he looked at their faces and noticed that while everyone showed the normal responses of shock and pity that accompanied every reaping, there was one other emotion. It was an emotion he hadn't seen very much, so it took Rust longer than he would have liked to realize what it was.

Relief.

"Now. Shake hands." The escort said, and Rust looked up to see for the first time who his district partner was.

It did surprise him to realize that he knew her. Not even in a casual way, like most people. He hadn't just seen her on a street corner or bumped into her at a store. Nettie Sue had been one of the few people who had ever been kind to him. She was two years older than him, but for a while they had gone to the same school. Often they would eat together, the only two people ever at that table.

"My father's bad too." she had told him once when he had asked why she risked talking to him, "I mean, he didn't torture and murder people. So yours is definitely worse. But still."

It had come out a little harshly, but it was the closest thing to sympathy he had experienced.

Eventually Nettie's grandmother had taken her in, and she moved schools. Rust was left alone again. He had thought that was the last he would see of Nettie Sue Monroe. He was probably the only person who was saddened by the fact that she was standing right next to him.

As he shook her hand Rust realized that this was probably the best news District Nine could have gotten. No one anyone truly valued would be lost this year. The curse that came from Rust's very presence would be lifted. It was a little melancholy to think that the world would probably be better without him.

But at least it meant that he could do one good thing with his life.

**AN: So that was the reapings! Some depressing stuff going on here, but at least you got to meet Violet Beckingridge by Paradigm of Writing, Tesla Nichols by A Proud Bibiophile and Rust Waxy by 20. Next chapter we've got the goodbyes, and three more tributes to introduce. Thank you very much for reading and please review.**


	9. Expectations and Reality: The Goodbyes

**Lucien Narciso, District Eight**

There was a rather lavish couch in the room in City Hall that Lucien had been placed in, but he found that he was too overwhelmed by rage to sit in it. He paced frantically through the center of the room, trying to burn off energy in a productive way rather than take it out on some lucky admirer trying to say goodbye to him.

And there was no shortage of people trying to say goodbye to him. The peacekeepers who had escorted him to this room had told him he was to only have one hour. But they also told him that they were trying to negotiate with the train to see if they could get everyone through. Apparently this was the first time they were in danger of running out of time. Lucien couldn't help but be oddly proud of this.

Lucien hadn't expected to become a District Eight icon. At least not at first. When he was a child he had always been told how useless he was. His parents were some of the best tailors in the whole district, and made a rather decent living at it. Whenever the Capitol needed a particularly complicated garment made, they were called. His mother also created her own designs, which she sold in a boutique manned by his father.

It had frustrated them both to discover how hopeless Lucien was with a needle. His fine motor skills were a wreck, and while he had an eye for fashion he had never quite managed to pull that into any talent for design. Along with being too frail for the dye vats and slightly afraid of large production machines, people were starting to think that Lucien had no redeeming value whatsoever. He began to believe it himself.

Except puberty in all its glory came, and suddenly Lucien was beautiful. Not just run of the mill pretty either, the kind of beauty that caused people to stop in the street. The kind of one of a kind good looks that gave his mother the idea to take pictures of him in her clothes.

Thus his career as a model was born, and it spread quicker than anyone could imagine. More shops were asking for him to model for them. Then designers. Then much to his enjoyment photographers from the Capitol itself. These were his favorite clients of course. They would come with custom designs that were too special to let anyone outside of the Capitol see, and tales of that beautiful, glittering city. Lucien felt a kinship to the place, and longed to go there more than anything in the world.

He suspected this was what people meant when they said be careful what you wish for.

It was enough to make him scream, really. His life's ambition was about to be fulfilled. He was going to the Capitol. He would be fed and dressed like royalty, with the entire world watching him. And then he would be put into whatever terrible arena they had thought up that year where he could be maimed or murdered. Not to mention how dirty survival could be. He suddenly got an image of himself rooting around in the mud, searching for something to eat as his clothes were torn and his beautiful blonde hair got smeared with dirt. It was a terrifying thought.

The door opened and all of his fuming disappeared as three small girls came forward. One of them had clearly been crying.

"Oh it's all right little one." He reassured her, "I'm going to be perfectly fine. Just you wait and see."

"But people die in the Hunger Games!" She said, once again bursting into sobs before she had finished the sentence.

"Oh but I'm too pretty to die. The Capitol wouldn't let a work of art like my body go to waste now would they?"

He spied a desk in the corner of the room, and took a marker and a pair of scissors from it. Cutting off a corner of his beautiful sky blue reaping suit that was designed to match his eyes, he wrote a message onto the piece in his perfect swirling cursive.

'With love from Lucien, Victor of the 93rd Hunger games' He popped off a button from his suit and clumsily sewed it on to the autographed fabric for good measure. The girl managed to stop crying and smiled slightly.

He talked with all three of them for a few minutes before they left and Lucien was free to fume again. It was not like he held any ill will towards the girl. He had genuinely wanted to cheer her up and hoped that his small token of affection would do that. But it wasn't like _she _was being shipped off to the greatest place in the universe just to be slaughtered, was she? He felt a seething jealousy in her ability to cry. In her ability to mourn him. Why couldn't Lucien Narciso mourn himself? The entire situation was incredibly unfair.

He /was/ a work of art damn it. He did not deserve to die, ugly blood pouring out of his beautiful form. He knew that he could wrap the Capitol around his finger like he did everyone else that he had ever met. He knew that they would love him the moment he opened his lovely mouth.

But he feared that it wouldn't be enough.

**Carlotta Pierce, District Ten**

Carlotta wasn't sure why they bothered to put her in a room. It's not like anyone was going to want to say goodbye to her, and even if some dumb ass classmate decided to show up she didn't particularly want to talk to them. Which was better for everyone really. She had done it once, and the feelings that she felt afterwards were not positive.

Anyone who would come would do so out of obligation, which was probably Carlotta's least favorite emotion in the world. If she could set everyone who felt like they needed to do something for her on fire, she one hundred percent would. It made her feel invisible and over seen all at the same time. Like the only reason they were dealing with her at all was because they felt a duty to.

The door to her room opened and the biggest offender of what she was just thinking about walked through. Of course her Aunt Marge had decided to show up. Carlotta had hoped that she wouldn't, but even as she wished it realized it was futile.

"Oh Carlotta, I'm so sorry." Her aunt said, enveloping her in a hug. Carlotta tried to slip out of the grip, but the woman worked long hours as a butcher. She was simply too strong.

"Don't worry. You'll find some other abandoned child to replace me." She said. That got Marge to drop her. The woman just stared at her with hurt in her eyes. Carlotta loved it when she looked like that.

"Now that's not fair."

Carlotta thought it was fair. More than fair even. What wasn't fair was having to live in the shadow of a boy she had never met. It was almost as bad as living in the community home.

Almost.

"You know, I've been thinking." Carlotta said, "If I die, well that's that. But if I win, I'm a Victor. I never have to worry about a home ever again. So I don't have to be nice to you any more."

"Nice to me?" The woman's voice was soft and incredulous, and Carlotta knew that she was thinking about all of the times that her aunt had come home to find jewelry stolen or livestock released, or on one occasion a photo of Dyson left burning in the living room. Carlotta had to admit that perhaps that one was a bit too far. She didn't know how Dyson had died, she didn't know much about him at all. Except he was a phantom that haunted every inch of Aunt Marge's house, and for that reason she hated him most of all.

Her aunt trailed off, clearly lost in emotion. Carlotta saw movement out of the corner of her eye, a reflex from the community home that she had yet to break. The woman's right hand curled into a fist and squeezed for a moment, before releasing. It was nothing, Carlotta tried to tell herself. Marge was awful, but she wouldn't do anything like that. She just wouldn't.

At least she hadn't. Not yet.

Carlotta crumpled to the floor, tears coming so swiftly that she couldn't prevent them. She was glad that there were no cameras in this room because such a sign of weakness would probably damn her. Her aunt rushed towards her and held her in her arms. Carlotta didn't try to get away from it this time.

"It's all right darling. My dear girl. It's all right." Aunt Marge said.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I know. And I want you to know I love you, all right? I do. Truly and deeply. And I do want you to win. Even if you never speak to me again. Because what I want most is for you to be happy."

Carlotta wished she could trust those words. Wish she could take them at face value and know them to be true. She wished that more than anything. But she had been in the world long enough to know that what you wanted meant shit.

"Is my mom coming to say goodbye?" Carlotta asked.

Her aunt sighed sadly and continued to hold her. "I don't think so sweetie."

"Yeah. I didn't think she would. Good riddance, really."

Her aunt didn't know what to say to that. So she just kissed her on the top of her head. That was when a peacekeeper came to take her away.

Carlotta stood up once the door closed and wiped her eyes. It was so easy to manipulate Marge, it was almost laughable. Just a couple tears and the woman was putty in her hands. She laughed. It was definitely a laugh, and not another sob. There was no reason she was still crying after all. Since it was all an act. The same thing was true for her hands, which were still shaking. Because she definitely didn't care about her mother, or her aunt, or the fact that Marge was the only person who came the entire time.

She didn't care one bit.

**Elixane Marcus, District Three**

The peacekeeper who had tried to grab hold of Elixane's arm hit the wall with a thud. If she had known he would be so easy to throw she would have dialed it back a bit. Of course she shouldn't have been surprised. District Three was more or less well behaved, and not known for anything physical. Elixane imagined that the peacekeepers they had were not exactly at the top of their classes.

"I told you. I'm not going until my sister gets here." She told them, feeling a bit giddy at getting the best of someone trained in Two. She knew that she was good enough, but it was nice to see proof. Her parents had already come to see her off, reluctant but supportive. Her sister hadn't been with them though, so Elixane was determined to wait until she came. Even if it meant taking on all the peacekeepers in District Three.

"I'm sorry Miss Marcus. But we have to get you to the train." The peacekeeper said, rubbing his head, "If she wanted to be here, she should have come during the assigned time period."

"Believe me I tried." The door opened and Elixane's sister Amaia rolled in, "But I had to go the back way because someone insisted the front entrance be entirely steps. And then the elevator broke. Why does a building this tall have only one elevator?"

The peacekeeper looked over at Amaia, though it would be more accurate to say he looked at her wheelchair. Elixane had been around her sister enough these past four years to know when someone wasn't truly seeing her.

"I'm terribly sorry Miss." He said, but Amaia just waved him off.

"Please leave. I need to say goodbye to my sister."

To his credit, the peacekeeper did exactly that. He closed the door behind him and the two of them hugged.

"See, if we get you fixed you wouldn't have to deal with things like that." Elixane said. Amaia sighed in exasperation.

"Eli, I'm not here to do this with you today."

"I know. I'm sorry." she said, and tried to leave it at that. She really did, "But think about how much better things will be when I win the Hunger Games."

"Look It's clearly too late to stop you on this dumb crusade you've set yourself on. But the least you can do is stop pretending that you're doing this for me. I'm not broken, Eli. And even if I were, which again, I'm not, you volunteered because you're bored and you need attention. Not out of your single minded devotion to your poor helpless sister."

They had gotten into this fight before of course, but Elixane hadn't wanted to get into it again today. It had been going on for years, since she had started training. Some time after the 84th Hunger Games, District Three realized that they were losing a lot of their best minds to the reapings every year. So they decided to take a page from the other upper districts and started training the children less likely to go into technology careers as potential tributes. The initiative had taken some time, but by the time Elixane was twelve the first career academy in Three had been built. For the past couple of years a career would volunteer sporadically. But this was the first year that both tributes from Three would be graduates from the academy. Regardless of what happened in the arena, she would be part of history.

"You're wrong." Elixane said, "Ok. you're partially wrong. Maybe I'm a little selfish. It's my life, I'm allowed to be."

Amaia snickered a little bit.

"But it's not because I'm bored. Not just because I'm bored." she continued, "Doesn't it bother you? Being a second class citizen just because you're not some kind of genius? Knowing in your bones that no one will think you'll ever amount to anything unless you create a nuclear reactor in your basement? I want to stop drowning in mediocrity. For our whole family to be worn down and exploited and physically injured! Is that really such a bad thing to want?"

Amaia didn't say anything. She just pulled up the brake on her chair and dragged her into a hug. Elixane could feel her tears as they dampened the collar of her shirt.

"I just don't want my baby sister to die. And I definitely don't want to her to become a killer." Amaia said.

"I know. But this is my choice. And I'm going to make you proud. You'll see."

Amai pulled away from the hug and looked up at her, tears in her eyes.

"I'm already proud of you Eli. And I always will be."

**AN: Not much to say this time around, just a thank you to Sherazade96 for Lucien Narciso, Vxitalia for Carlotta Pierce, and SchroedingersKneazle for Elixane Marcus. I would like to say that the next chapters are less heavy, but honestly it's the Hunger Games. I feel like I've kind of found a pattern so hopefully these chapters will continue to come quickly. Thank you for reading, and as always please review!**


	10. Foresight and Hindsight: The Train Rides

**Demetri Donovan, District Five**

"So what does that do?" Demetri asked, pointing to one of the numerous buttons on the control panel of the train.

"That activates the air horn." The driver said. Demetri could tell that the man was beginning to get annoyed, but he couldn't help himself.

"Can I try it?"

" you sure you're even allowed up here?"

Demetri shrugged, "People have a bit of a hard time telling a dead kid what they can't do." He was slightly surprised how casual he sounded about it. He wondered if maybe the truth hadn't quite settled in yet. He knew that he was probably going to die, but it didn't quite feel real at the moment. And it was so easy for his mind to be pulled away from such grim thoughts with all of the new things he was discovering on the train.

"I'm terribly sorry." The train driver said.

"Thank you. But I think I'm ok."

"I heard there's a feast in the dining car." The man said. Demetri had thought he had heard the word 'conductor' used. Was he a conductor? He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, though he had the feeling that it didn't have anything to do with how well they channeled electricity.

"Oh there is. I did eat there for a little bit. My family and I were never starving so it's not like…. Oh my god so unbelievable. But it was still more food than I've ever seen. I did have to take out tesserae for a couple of years, which I think made me hesitant around Capitol food. It's not very good at all. And if you rely on it for too long, you can get Scurvy. Do you know what Scurvy is?"

Demetri felt his cheeks heat up as he secretly burned in embarrassment over his behavior. It was not like he wanted to be standing here rambling about exotic diseases. But he found that he couldn't help himself. Once he got started on a subject, he couldn't stop. It had always been a flaw of his.

"I'm really sorry. You probably know tons about Scurvy, being from the Capitol and all. Wait, are you from the Capitol? Or are you from somewhere else? I've heard they have invited District Citizens to the Capitol on occasion, but I guess I don't really think about it."

The driver tried to keep an eye on the tracks in front of him, though Demetri realized he was being distracting. He wondered if his talking would cause them to crash. Would that be better or worse than going to the hunger games. He grabbed at the hem of his shirt, trying not to move them around too much.

"I'm from District Six." he said eventually.

"You are? How is that? And how is the capitol?" Demetri asked, unable to keep his enthusiasm in check.

"It's fine I suppose." The driver answered, "Home is home right?"

Demetri supposed that was true. He certainly loved his home, from the windmills to the large nuclear plants. Every inch of it was beautiful to him. He was still processing everything that had happened that morning, but one thing he knew was that he was going to miss his home district. He hoped that he would be able to go back to it, he really did.

"As for the capitol, I'm not allowed outside the station. So mostly I just see the buildings."

"I bet the buildings are amazing." Demetri said, "We have a whole sub district dedicated just for keeping Capitol building lights on. I always wondered how amazing they would need to be to need that much power."

The driver chuckled a bit, which made him embarrassed again. But then he looked thoughtful. "Have you heard of Hebe Dagnus?" he asked.

"I have! She was a victor right? A six victor. Does that mean you know her?"

"I do. I was a friend of her folks actually. You remind me of her."

Demetri reminded someone of a victor? He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not but he decided to take it as one. "Thank you."

"Sure thing. If you meet her, tell her that Tomas Vaunt says hi?"

"I can do that, yeah." he said. Though he hadn't met his own mentor yet, let alone a different district's. And he was never sure how people would handle him.

The driver smiled, "And I tell you what. You can signal the horn once."

So Demetri did.

**Seaward Waters, District Four**

Seaward stood in the dining car, staring at all of the various foods around him. The entire car was stacked with bread and meats and pastries and fish. So much fish. It was about as much as he would see in a year, and his father's business was one of the biggest trout hatcheries in District Four. He had never been one who had ever wanted for anything. Physically, at least. Yet the amount of food was almost staggering. He wondered what people from the lower districts thought when they came to their own dining cars. Were they as overwhelmed as he was?

It was probably best not to dwell on the other tributes at the moment. If he thought too much about it, he would have to think about the Hunger Games. About how in just a short period of time, he would be expected to murder all of them.

He knew that he could. Seaward had been trained with the finest instructors money could buy since he was able to stand up. He knew six different sword techniques, three hand to hand techniques, and was proficient with both the bow and crossbow. He knew where to strike so that death was instant, and how long a cut would take until it bled out. Death was his expertise, and he knew he was competent. He just wasn't entirely sure it was what he wanted to do.

It was a little late to think about that, he supposed. He idly thought of his parents' faces when they said their goodbyes to him. They were so proud. He hated to admit it, but he wasn't a strong person. Even if this wasn't what he wanted, it was what they wanted. And despite himself, other people's needs always came first.

"Are you Ok?"

Seaward turned to see his district partner, Cordelia Korver, looking at him with a mix of amusement and concern.

"Oh yes. I'm ok. More than ok. I am double ok. Super ok even." he answered, giving her his trademark dopey grin. A weaker comeback than he would have liked, but it probably would do the trick. From a young age, Seaward had learned that the easiest way to be accepted was to make someone laugh. Everyone liked someone who was funny. There was always room at the table for a clown. Eventually it became second nature to him, practically a need.

Cordelia didn't seem to laugh at first, which caused a pit to for in his stomach. But slowly a smirk started to form. "Super ok. Haven't heard that before."

"It is an ancient technique, passed on through my bloodline for generations."

That earned him a laugh, and Seaward allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. Only a small one though. It wouldn't do to let the girl realize how much he wanted to be her friend. How much he needed the other careers to think he was valuable.

"Would you consider showing me sometimes?" she asked, closing the space between them and grabbing an apple on the table behind Seaward. Was she flirting? He was really hoping she wasn't flirting. That sort of thing always made him uncomfortable.

"I suppose I could." He answered with mock thoughtfulness, "If you promised to uphold the sacred duty ok super ok."

She laughed again, and Seaward would have been thrilled if she hadn't been standing so close. "You're a riot Seaward. I think we're going to make a great alliance together." She took a bite out of the apple than walked out, disappearing just as quickly as she had shown up.

Seaward stared at the door for a few minutes, mostly feeling confused. Though that was a blessing in itself, he decided. He would much rather worry about his partner's intentions than what the children he would soon be killing were thinking about.

**Zella Waneta, District Two**

Zella had grabbed a tray of food from the dining car earlier, but it sat in front of her mostly uneaten. She had a lot of work to do, and none of it included sampling delicious capitol was no common agreement as to when the Hunger games officially begun. Some thought it started when all of the tributes were in the arena and the countdown hit zero. Smarter folks realized that it happened beforehand, perhaps during the parade or the Interviews. But Zella knew the truth. The moment all twenty-four tributes had been declared was the moment the Hunger Games truly started, and the train rides were an integral part of preparation.

She had just finished watching all of the reapings and was beginning to look at them a second time. She had a notebook in her hands where she could scribble down stray thoughts and observations about capitol was a long trip. She was hoping she could get in at least four viewings by the end of it.

She saw a shadow pass by the door of her compartment and paused the video to take a look. Dash was walking by with a tray of food, clearly trying not to bother her.

"Hey." She said, "How about you try not being useless for once and get your ass in here."

He turned around to yell at her but she had already slipped back inside her room by then. She hit play and waited until her district partner came in.

"You know I don't take orders from you right?" Dash said, though he took a seat next to her. She figured it would be like that. Everyone complained and threw tantrums when she put people in their place. But people always came around eventually.

"Yes you do. And you're going to, until one of us dies. I'm leading the careers this year. So sit down and look at your competition."

"You don't get to just declare that you know." Dash said.

"And who's going to stop me, You? If you think I'm going to follow a dropout around you're dumber than you thought." Zella had started to stop caring about Dash at this point. District Three's reapings had come up. There had been rumors that Three had a career academy, and it seemed that they hadn't been lying. The two tributes were clearly trained. She doubted that they would be anywhere as good as her, or even the two tributes from One. But she figured she would let them into the alliance unless they scored particularly bad.

"I didn't drop out. I quit."

It was the same fucking thing in Zella's mind, "Do you know why I'm watching these reapings right now?" she asked.

"To get information on the competition." Dash answered dully. It was clear that it seemed obvious to him.

"Exactly. Information gathering is the most important part of strategy. And strategy is my strongest skill." She told him, "So you bet your damn ass I looked into you."

Dash's eyes narrowed and a hardness overcame him. Zella was slightly impressed despite herself. At least the boy wasn't entirely useless. "If this is about my boyfriend, let me tell you-"

"I couldn't give two flying fucks about who you like to stick your dick in Dash _Grester_." She spat out his last name with all of the venom she could muster. Which was an awful lot. "I care about your parents. You see, I'm here to bring honor to my district. To show loyalty to the capitol. I spent my whole life working and training and dealing with people all up in my fucking business so I could be the best tribute I could possibly be. So perhaps you can see why it pisses me off that a child of filthy _rebels_ who couldn't be assed to even finish career training properly is who they're sending in with me."

There was a long poignant silence. Dash had been ready to fight about his sexuality. But the moment his parents came in he practically collapsed in defeat. Zella was happy she didn't have a complicated home life. Her mother was the Mayor of District Two and her father was one of the most influential peacekeepers in all of Panem. They annoyed her like crazy sometimes, but at least they weren't traitors.

"I'm not like that." Dash said quietly, "I'm loyal."

"Then prove it. Be my lieutenant."

There was more silence as Dash looked over at her notes.

"The two tributes from Twelve know each other." He said. So he had been watching the reapings as well. Zella grinned a bit despite herself.

"How do you know that?"

"The girl. She screamed in anguish. But not at her name. At his. Also look at their eyes when they shake hands. That kind of intimacy doesn't come from strangers." He answered. Zella wrote that down in her notes.

"Don't get me wrong. I still hate you." Zella said, "But I think we'll work rather well together."

**AN: Can you believe we're halfway through the tributes? I hardly can. I think I like the three per chapter format, it's brisk but also gives everyone a bit of a chance to shine. So this chapter we got to meet Demetri Donovan by Jul312, Seaward Waters by .20 and Zella Waneta by Merp1Molecule. I apologize for Zella's potty mouth. Next chapter, the tributes meet their mentors for the first time. Most of them you've met already, but there are a couple new faces. Anyway, as always, thank you and please review!**


	11. Questions and Answers: The Mentors

**Raleigh West, District Six**

Raleigh had locked himself in his room for several hours when he heard a knock on his door. For a moment, he debated whether or not to answer it. They probably wouldn't barge in right? At least not until they arrived at the capitol. He wondered if perhaps he should form some sort of blockade or booby trap for when that happened. But he realized that it would only delay them getting to him, not prevent it completely. The only way he was going to survive this was to go along with things. He hated how easy it was for him to do that. How difficult he found it to stand up for himself, but even as he had these thoughts he was opening his door.

"Hey. Raleigh, right?" Cardamom Drift, victor of the 89th Hunger Games, asked him. Raleigh hadn't had many interactions with Drift, as he was both a victor and quite a bit older than him. But he had come from the South Corner like him, so Raleigh felt like he already knew him at least a little bit. His grandmother talked about him as if they were personal friends, and the dingy restaurants that managed to stay around with a combination of luck, loyal customers, and shady dealings all had a story or two about the man.

Cardamom Drift had come from the dirt and made it out of the Hunger Games alive. Raleigh came from the same place as him. Maybe he could do the same.

"Yes. Can I help you?" Raleigh asked. What he really wanted to ask was if Drift could help _him_, but his shy politeness always seemed to pop up at the worst possible moments.

"Oh no. Quite the opposite really. Hebe and I thought we could have a meeting with the two of you in the dining car. Get to know each other, make a plan maybe?"

Raleigh turned it around in his head for a moment. It wasn't that he didn't want Drift's help. He was perfectly aware that it was the best chance he got of surviving. He just wasn't sure he wanted to talk about that help with his district partner there. The girl tribute, Astra he thought her name might be, was small and quiet and serious. Three things he was as well. While it would be nice to talk to someone similar to him, it made him worried. If people saw them as a unit, he would get less individual attention and the sponsors would be split between them. He had been without resources before and knew how important even a small scrap of food could be when life was on the line. There was a part of him that thought it wouldn't be wise to team up with Astra, even if it was for a short period of time.

But Drift was looking at him in such a hopeful manner that he couldn't manage to refuse. "Ok. I'll be there in a moment." He said, then shut the door before Drift could say anything else.

He started breathing a little too quickly and Raleigh had to take a moment to calm himself down. It wasn't particularly useful or sensible to have a panic attack over an invitation to a planning session. It was something he was going to have to work on. There had only been two thirteen year old victors in the history of the Hunger Games. He didn't have a particularly good shot. And he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that it was a daunting statistic. But he had to remember the time his family hadn't had a reliable source of income for three months. Or that time a morphling gang had cornered him in an alley. Raliegh had faced death before. In that way, he was more qualified than most of the other tributes. He couldn't let the situation throw him. And he definitely couldn't let a girl throw him.

He could feel his heart slowing down a little, and once he felt suitably calm he went off to find his mentor.

**Ruben Ashven, District Ten**

"For the love of all that is good and pure in the world, could you just sit down and be quiet?" Kaenas bellowed, and in that moment Ruben realized that he was standing in front of a man who had been thrown into an arena with twenty three other children and survived. Most of the time Ruben just thought of the victor as old and grumpy, but in that moment he felt actual legitimate fear. So he did what the man said and sat down.

He tried to be quiet as well, but it was rather difficult for him. "She started it." he complained.

"I didn't do anything to you." Carlotta said sweetly. If Ruben hadn't known better he would have thought she was a completely different person than the girl who had called him a dumb walking corpse mere moments earlier. He wondered if this was how he looked after he said something without thinking. It was quite possible.

"I don't care who started it." Kaenas said, "I am trying to help you two. So if you could please kindly let me actually do that."

Both he and Carlotta sat there rather sullenly and listened to him. Blaire looked fairly uncertain, but spoke up for the first time since they had gathered together.

"I guess the first thing we need to establish." Blaire said, "Was whether you want us to work as a team, or train you both individually."

"I think we could really work well together." Carlotta said. Ruben didn't trust it.

"You would kill me in my sleep the first day." Ruben spat out, then instantly regretted it. Those were one of those inside thoughts his parents were always telling him about. Those words that he was supposed to keep a hold of, like his energy. But also like his energy it had a habit of spilling out when he least wanted it to. Even now, he wanted to run or jump or create statues out of mashed potatoes. The more he was asked to be quiet the harder it was to focus.

Carlotta didn't respond how he had expected. "I would." she spat, "And you know what? I'll tie you up first. So I can watch you scream as I bleed you out slowly."

"Carlotta." Kaenas' voice rose again and his district partner visibly paled. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked out the window.

"Well, she could very well be a victor, she's already got the mood swings down." Kaenas remarked.

"You're being a dick." Blaire said to him, and although Kaenas was much older than the newest victor, he fell into a sullen silence, "Well. If I'm honest I think the two of you could use all the allies you can get. So let's compromise. Half of our sessions together we'll do as a district. The other half, one on one. How does that sound?"

Ruben was a little unsure, but he felt like he was going to die if he had to sit still much longer. "Ok. As long as she promises not to kill me."

"I promise that I won't kill you until we get to the arena."

Ruben figured that would have to be good enough.

**Anthracite Amber Weitz, District Twelve**

At some point, it had started to rain. The water beat against the windows of the train car and Anthracite watched the patterns they formed in fascination. She had always rather liked the rain. There was something peaceful about it, and it never failed to calm her down. Which may have been why she was listening to Mattock's plan in the first place. If she had been in the state that she had been when they had boarded the train, she had the feeling that she would lock the door and stay there until they arrived at the capitol.

Well, that was probably being overdramatic. She could never stay away from Mattock for long. His presence was as comforting as the rain was. But that didn't mean that she always agreed with him.

"I don't know, Mattie. He creeps me out." she said, twirling a piece of her long brown hair around her finger.

"He creeps me out a bit too. But I don't think we can blame him. He's been through an awful lot."

Anthracite felt like she very much could blame him, but that was a thought she would keep deep inside herself and never voice. That sort of thing could be considered treason. "Can't we just figure it out ourselves?" she asked, "I mean we're both strong. And we have each other. Do we really need a mentor?"

"I'm afraid we do, Double A." Mattock said, "We've got a shot, I think. Particularly if we stick together. But no one does this without the mentors. And no one likes the games like him."

Anthracite was still unsure, but his points were hard to argue. There were no good options anymore. Either she died in the arena, or she lived at the expense of her best friend. None of it was particularly fair. But she had wasted her tears on it during her goodbyes. Now all she was thinking about was getting her and Mattock to the end. One of them had to win. She was sure her soul would eternally suffer if neither of them made it through.

She was being dramatic again. Now wasn't the time. Now was the time to grab any opportunity she could find.

"Ok, let's do it." She said and stood up.

"One more thing." Mattock added, "I don't think we should tell anyone that we're friends. Just in case people compare us to… well you know."

Anthracite did know. Everyone in District Twelve lived in the shadow of Katniss Everdeen. If it was possible, the district had gotten harsher and poorer since the second rebellion had failed. Once again Mattock was being sensible. She didn't like it. But she nodded anyway and walked with him to their mentor's quarters.

She knocked, and heard a rustling as he came to answer the door. It opened slightly at first, then was thrown wide open as the man behind it grabbed Anthracite and placed a knife from the cheese plate against her throat.

"How did you come back?" he yelled at her, "Why did you come back?" Anthracite couldn't respond even if she understood what he was asking her. The fear had stripped her completely of speech. Thankfully Mattock didn't have the same problem.

"Mr. Mellark." Mattock said, "Mr. Mellark we're the tributes for the 93rd Hunger Games. That is Anthracite Weitz. I think you might have confused her with someone else." Mattock stared over at Anthracite with a look that suggested he thought he was right about something. She wasn't sure what exactly, as she had clearly been right about him being a creep.

Peeta Mellark, Only living victor of two Hunger Games, killer of Katniss Everdeen and so called savior of Panem, looked at Anthracite with eyes that seemed to focus and unfocus by the second.

"I'm sorry." she said quietly, "I didn't think I looked that much like her."

"You don't." He said, then let go of her. Anthracite tried to choke back a sob.

"You were right." Mattock said. "We don't need him."

"Don't need me? Don't need me." He repeated himself a couple of times, more to the air than either of them, "I've been here before."

"Well sir. It is a train car." Mattock said.

"No. Not the train. You." He pointed to Mattock, "I _was_ you. Which I guess means I'm Haymitch. I suppose there's only one thing to do about that."

"Help us?" Anthracite asked hopefully.

"Drink." Peeta turned around and shut the door behind him.

"Well. That was horrifying. I'm really sorry Double A." Mattock said.

"No. No you're right, it was worth a shot." She replied, "I guess I just didn't realize he was this bad even after all this time."

Suddenly the door swung open again. Anthracite jumped back out of reflex.

"We start tomorrow. Dawn. Be there or come to terms with your own death." Peeta said. Then shut the door again.

"Did he just say yes?" She asked.

"I think he did."

**AN: So. I've been sitting on that one for a while. This chapter we got to meet Raleigh West by Tyquavis, Ruben Ashven by Jimster 920, and Anthracite Amber Weitz by Curiousclove. We also got to meet some mentors, both new and familiar. This chapter was a bit of a doozy to write, so I hope you liked it. Please review, have a lovely night, and thank you very much for reading.**


	12. Beauty and Pain: The Preparations

**Random Content Warning appears, this time for body shaming, diet and weight loss talk, and forced physical alterations. Prep work is so cheery!**

**Nettie Sue Monroe, District Nine**

Mariana, the head of Nettie Sue's prep team, sighed at her dramatically. "This won't do. This won't do at all." she said. She circled around like a vulture and tittered disapprovingly.

"What do you mean by that?" Nettie Sue asked. She had barely been in the Capitol for twenty minutes and she already wanted to go back to District Nine. Which since about eighty percent of the people she knew there were assholes was saying something.

"I mean you're fat." She said simply. The other two members of her prep team nodded in agreement.

Nettie Sue decided that she hated all three of them. She knew their type, the kind that would find the first sign of imperfection and pick at it until you finally unraveled. It was not the first time that someone had criticized her for her learned rather quickly that people who mocked her for her weight were completely willing to mock her for any other tiny offense that popped into her head. It was one of the first things people noticed, so she had started using it as a sort of test of character.

All three of them had failed.

"Well gee, if I had known I was going to be drafted into a publicly televised execution, I would have cleared up my natural predisposition real quick." she said.

Mariana's eyes narrowed, but then she went on as if Nettie Sue had said nothing. "We're going to take care of all of that, of course." She said, waving vaguely at Nettie in disgust, "But you're going to go on a diet."

"I am not."

"You are. I will talk to the Avoxes who serve you food. The only meals that will be set in front of you are the ones I personally approve of. We'll get you slimmed down before the games start"

"So what you're saying," Nettie Sue began, "Is that you're going to starve me before the Hunger Games."

"It's a bit of a crass way of putting it, but if that's how you want to describe it yes." Mariana said.

"Wonderful. I'm just going to let District Nine know you sliced one of their tribute's chances in half because you couldn't stand the fact that I'm a couple sizes larger than average."

The capitolite reached forward and placed a bony hand on Nettie Sue's cheek. "Oh darling." she said, "We both know that you're not going to win."

And there it was. She knew Mariana's type very well. Her father was this type, the bullies at school were this started with noticeable things, perhaps things you agreed with or worried about yourself. But then they would go deeper. Your intelligence, your personality, your very people would find a way to knock you down just for the sake of it. For the longest time, Nettie Sue had let them. But she didn't do that anymore.

Nettie Sue grabbed the woman's hand and pulled it away from her own cheek. "Touch me again, and perhaps you'll get to see first hand why I just might."

Mariana laughed. "Oh, there's some fire in this one. I'm glad, District Nine is usually so boring. I am going to touch you again though. You need to be washed. So are you going to come with me on your own, or do we have to carry you in?"

Rage boiled inside of her, but Nettie Sue knew this wasn't a practical place to take a stand. So she followed the prep team in.

**Ashlar Granodum, District Three**

Ashlar would be lying if he said that he was perfectly comfortable with what was being done to him. His prep team had scrubbed every single inch of him, seemingly without any sense of modesty. But he was not a liar by nature, rather detesting the practice. So he did what he always did when he disapproved of something: he stayed silent throughout the whole ordeal. His team didn't seem to mind and chatted among each other as they pawed over Ashlar's naked body.

Thankfully this portion of their preparations were mercilessly short and he was being given what one of them had to refer to as a mani-pedi, which was still unfamiliar but much easier to deal the very least he was relaxed enough to listen in on what his prep team was saying.

"I swear there was a whole field under there. I understand that District Eleven works with their hands all day, but that makes taking care or your nails that much more important." Cassian, a pale man wearing a silver suit that jutted out in strange geometric patterns said.

"That's why I love working with District Three." Oskar, his team lead, said, "They're always so clean. Not usually this muscled though. By the way honey, we think it's wonderful the way District Three has set up a career school."

Ashlar realized that he was being addressed and gave him a dazzling smile. Listen, adapt, do what was expected of him. It was what he always did, so intrinsically part of his nature that sometimes he wondered who he was when he was alone. That wouldn't be much of a problem in the Capitol thankfully.

"Why thank you. I look forward to showing you all just what we can do."

"Oh he's charming. Like a One almost." Rufina said. The last member of Ashlar's prep team had tattoos all over her body, some he was certain changed colors or moved.

"Well the hope is that one day you're comparing other districts to Threes." He said, laughing a bit. He was an expert at tone, at reading a room and realizing how best to deliver something, "But at the moment that's a high compliment. Thank you. Thank all of you. I know you're going to make me look so excellent for the Games.

They all seemed flattered by the compliment.

"Well you make it easy." Oskar said, "We're rooting for you."

It was nice to hear. While Ahlar would never make his nervousness known, what he and his district partner were trying to do was unprecedented. If they did well, the career academy in Three would be fully acknowledged. Never again would the district have a child die who hadn't signed up for it. But if they failed, Ashlar knew that the government of Three would just call it a failed experiment and move on. No second chances. No more volunteers. These games were worth more than just his life.

But no one liked a buzzkill. So Ashlar kept smiling, even if he wasn't entirely sure he felt like it.

**Astra Porter, District Six**

"What did you do to me?"

Astra's yell probably couldn't be heard through the entire preparations building. But at least everyone on her floor heard it, as well as the following crash as she smashed the mirror her team had handed her against the wall.

"Oh, don't make such a fuss." One of her prep team said. She didn't know which one it was. They were all interchangeable to her, like little gnats flying around her head. "It's only hair."

"There were so many tributes with brown this year."

"Oh yes. So many."

"Incredibly boring."

"You should be thanking us. At least you're going to stand out."

Astra grabbed another mirror, and one of her team winced slightly as if they were convinced she would throw it as well. She was tempted, but decided that it was more important to take another look at her hair.

She had never been particularly attached to it, except in the literal sense. Brown and straight, it was rather unremarkable. Even if she had been the type to take pride in personal appearances she wasn't sure that she would be all that concerned about what was done with her hair. And as she looked back at her reflection, she had to admit they had some good instincts. They had kept the length, about to her shoulders. But instead of her unassuming brown it was a bright inky black. It contrasted with her pale skin and gave her a mysterious, intriguing look.

But it was the principle of the thing more than any personal attachment. They had taken her from the train, cleaned her, waxed her, and now she found out that they had dyed her hair. All without permission. All without a care that she was a human being. It wasn't acceptable. And even if by some stretch of the imagination it was, she was too stubborn to admit it.

"No." she said.

"No?" one of the prep team asked. The way they said it made Astra wonder if anyone had ever told them that before.

"You heard me." she said, "I don't like it."

"But you can't say _no._" One of them said, confirming her theory, "Even if you could it's already been done."

"I don't care. I won't go out there like this. I refuse. I would rather shave my head and go bald than be seen in public like this."

She paused for a moment, her mind turning. She had a knack for coming up with solutions. The problem here was more complicated than it appeared. She wanted to assert her autonomy. Cement herself as a person, capable of decision. Requiring consent. But she couldn't afford to alienate them, although she severely wanted to. And there was the issue that black was notoriously difficult to dye over. But that stray heat of the moment sentence held the answer.

"Actually, let's do that. Shave it off." she said, "I saw someone once who had patterns in their hair. Can you do that?"

"Can we do that?" one of them said indignantly, "Girl, we can shave entire constellations if we wanted to."

"Well do you want to? Because that sounds brilliant." she said.

"It would be very much not boring." one of the prep team said.

"It would look rather striking even."

"Fine fine. We'll do it. It's a lovely idea. But we know what we're doing."

"I'm aware." Astra said, "But have you thought that maybe so do I?"

The member of her team that seemed most hesitant frowned for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod. "Perhaps. Let's go back to the salon."

Astra walked back to the salon chair, and as she heard the sound of a razor turn on couldn't help but feel a wave of triumph.

**AN: So we just got through the original prep session, one of those story beats I don't see a lot of in SYOTs. Here we got to meet Nettie Sue Monroe by Civilwarrose, Ashlar Granodum by TheConsultingMarauder, and Astra Porter by Team Shadow. We're in the capitol guys! Isn't exciting? Thank you to everyone who has left a comment so far, I read every one of them and I love the feedback. Enjoy!**


	13. Glitz and Glamour: The Stylists

**Cordelia Korver, District Four**

The apartment bedroom that Cordelia was being housed in had a large window looking out into the capitol. It was on the fourth floor, high enough to give a bit of a view but not so high that she lost all of the details. She could watch the various capitolites rush around about their day, which is what she was doing when a giant of a man stepped into her room.

Instantly she fell into a fighting stance, and looked around for a weapon. There was a curtain rod that she could use for a spear if needed. Otherwise she just might have to go hand to hand with him. It was not advisable though, the man was huge and while he seemed to have a bulging stomach Cordelia could see the muscles in his arms.

He raised those very arms up in a sign of surrender. "Sorry. Sorry I should have knocked. Hello. I'm Ronan, your stylist. Is now not a good time?"

Cordelia relaxed her stance a bit and tried not to let on that she was a bit disappointed. The journey to the capitol had been amazing so far. She had loved the train rides, and the food was excellent. Her prep team had been rather kind to her and she looked even better than usual, which was quite the accomplishment. But she didn't have very much at the moment to sate her need for adrenaline. Flirting with district partner had prevented her from getting too bored, but she had rather been itching for a fight.

"No. Now's a good time. What do you need me to do?" She asked.

"Well. At the moment, let me have a good look at you." He said, and made a little spinning motion with his hands. Cordelia got the point and turned around, feeling a little ridiculous. "You're very pretty. And tall. Very very tall."

"What's wrong with being tall?" Cordelia snapped. It was a bit of a sore spot with her. She generally thought she was a good looking person, and she took some care in her appearance. But she did hate how tall and lanky she was.

"Nothing at all!" Ronan answered, "Tall is a good thing. Take it from me. I'm tall, I love being tall, except when I hit my head on ceiling fans. Tall makes you stand out. And you've got a swimmer's body. Like a mermaid. No, a siren."

"What's the difference?" She asked.

"Well a mermaid is just a fish person. She swims around. Makes jewelry. Whatever But a siren? A siren sings a tune so achingly lovely that a sailor would have to pursue it. So the sirens would lead them to rocks where their ships would crash, and then they would drown them. A siren seems one way, but is another. They will lead you to ruin."

Cordelia was a little unnerved by what he stylist was saying. Not so much about how morbid it was, she found that kind of interesting. But how well it fit her personality. Cordelia couldn't deal well with confrontation. As frustrating as it was, she always stepped down if a stronger voice was heard. So she had gotten in to subversion. Once she had spiked a fellow trainee's energy drink with laxatives because the girl had been purposely coming early for training to use up some of Cordelia's time. She often felt like the words she said or the things she did were just ways to manipulate others, beckoning them the throw themselves against the rocks.

But the man was probably just a lucky guesser.

"Do I get to wear bracelets?" She asked,

"Oh. So many bracelets. Made out of seashells and kelp and little starfish charms."

Cordelia smiled a little bit "I love it."

**Titania Topaz, District One**

The stylists for District One this year were twins, one boy and one girl but still very much similar in appearance. The boy had gotten his skin tinted bronze while his sister was a luminous silver. Metallics were in this year, Titania had noticed. Her mother had often talked of the bright colors and outrageous body modification that she had seen back when she was in the Capitol. But fashion had a way of moving forward. They had very little else to do, after all. Titania could never be comfortable with how they lived at the expense of others, even as she was determined to use them to restore her family's good name. There was an ugliness to their excess, a lack of restraint that made even the elegant not quite work in Titania's mind.

Still, she had managed to fit in well enough with a black suit tailored to perfection and sporting bright gold buttons. She was obviously from the Districts, but clearly with a sense of style. This suited Titania just fine, as her origin wasn't something that she was trying to hide.

"So these are our first sketches for your outfits." The boy twin said, showing her and her district partner a couple of drawings, "Gemstones may be a little on the nose, but it suits you both I think. Diamonds for Diamond, naturally. And for Titania… we have a lead on the most beautiful cornflower sapphires. In honor of your mother."

"I always forget your mother and one of my sisters share the same name." Diamond said, "Is that why you picked me?"

Titania was not sure how, but Diamond had managed to find out that after Pizazz's alternate had been dismissed, she was the one who picked who would replace him. Ever since, he had been dropping it into every conversation, some attempts more smoothly than others. Titania smiled at him and laughed slightly, but gave no answer. Instead she looked at the initial sketches. Hers was an elegant ball gown made entirely of blue gemstones, while Diamond's was a sleek tuxedo, with a sharp silhouette and similarly lined with gemstones.

"These designs are breathtaking." Titania said, " And I love how you've chosen these based on my mother. She has so many wonderful stories about her time in the Capitol." Which was true enough, Titania figured. There were quite a few lovely stories, before Sapphire became pregnant with her. Before the whole Capitol turned on her.

"But…" She continued, "I don't wear dresses. I am terribly sorry as it is a lovely design."

The boy twin, who she was pretty sure now was her stylist while the other was Diamond's, looked very confused. "What would you wear then? A suit."

"Yes, actually."

"We can if you truly want to. But suits don't test particularly well with Capitol men."

"Oh, that's fine. It's not the men I'm trying to attract." Titania said, then sent a wink to the girl stylist, who blushed and looked away. To his credit, her stylist understood rather quickly.

"I can work with that." He said, "Though I admit it's a shame about the dress."

It truly was. Titania was not a dress person, and never would be. But she could tell craftsmanship when she saw it. Her stylist had put a lot of work into this design. It would be a shame to just throw it away.

Unless…

Titania's lips curved into a mischievous grin, "What do you think about the dress Diamond?" she asked. His eyebrows rose in indignation.

"Are you assuming I like dresses because I'm gay?"

"No. I'm assuming because you have three sisters."

He couldn't really argue with that and took a look at the design, "It is incredible." He said, "But I don't know how I would look in it."

"Oh you'll look wonderful trust me." The female stylist finally spoke up, "Especially if we use your original color pallette. The diamonds will bring out your eyes, and we have your measurements so we can make it to flatter you."

"It a bold idea." The male stylist said, "People will definitely be talking about you."

"I'm not sure." Diamond said, then leaned over to whisper to Titania, "I'm already a little self conscious about how I'm not built like a standard One tribute. I don't know if I want to be seen like this to the world."

It was a fair concern, and Titania didn't want Diamond to feel uncomfortable. But she also thought that this was a particularly brilliant idea.

"Maybe don't think about how the world will respond. Think about how Al will."

Diamond stared at the designs again and she watched as pink flushed his cheeks. She had to admit she was a little proud of herself. It wasn't often that she made a man blush.

"All right. I'll do it. But the rest of the time, I need men's clothes. Strong clothes. The gown is a one time thing."

Diamond's stylist was nodding, and had already started sketching designs on a notepad she had brought.

"So it's settled. We switch the designs." Her stylist said, and the both of them nodded.

Titania had to admit, the Games were going pretty good for her so far.

**Arachne Weber, District Eight**

"You're very lucky. Most tributes don't get to help during this part. But as you're eights we figured you might appreciate it." Her stylist Quint said. She wasn't entirely sure that they liked her, as she had asked whether they were a boy or a girl when they first met, when apparently they were neither. This had embarrassed her so much that she had taken to not talking to the stylist. Not that she talked all that much anyway.

She nodded slightly to acknowledge she had heard them then looked around the warehouse. Inside was more fabric than she had ever seen in her life, and working as she did constructing peacekeeper's uniforms that was saying something. Sheets of wools and linens and other rarer fabrics lined the walls. It was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

Her district partner Lucien sniffed. "We have something like this back at home." he said.

"Oh I've heard that's where you got your start. I bet it's quite lovely." Lucien's stylist Regulus said. From what Arachne had heard, Lucien was famous. So famous the Capitol knew about him, and Regulus was his biggest fan. It made Arachne feel awkward. Even more awkward than usual.

"Well. At least someone appreciates it." Quint remarked and smiled over at Arachne. She wasn't sure how to respond to it. In her experience, attention was always negative. When Mrs. Owl, the woman who had raised her after her parents died, gave her attention it meant either punishment or extra work. When her boss at the factory paid her attention it almost always meant extra work. And when the world had its attention on her? Well it was because she had been reaped for the Hunger Games. Arachne tried her best to be quiet, to not make waves, to get along as best she could. So instead of smiling back she just wandered through the warehouse.

She stopped in one aisle and couldn't help but be attracted to a bolt of dark green silk. She had seen the silkhouses in Eight of course, but as she didn't work there was never allowed in. It had always seemed like such a luxurious fabric to her. She ran her hand down the surface. It felt cool against her skin.

"And that's why you take Eights fabric shopping with you." Quint said, appearing behind her with their gentle but terrifying smile, "The green will bring out your eyes. And silk is the perfect fit for someone named Arachne, don't you think? This will help you stand out."

"But I don't want to stand out." She said.

Quint got quiet but serious. It made Arachne more nervous than the smile did, "You want to live don't you?"

Arachne nodded.

"Well then we need to make you stand out. I can tell that's going to be hard for you. But trust me. Please."

Arachne wasn't sure she trusted wasn't meant to be cruel. It was just safer not to. But there was something about Quint. And at this point she was already dead. What could it really hurt?

"I make scarves sometimes." She said, though she wasn't sure why.

"Scarves? That's lovely. I tell you what. You pick out some yarn while we're here. We'll incorporate scarves into the chariot outfit. That will give you time to make a scarf for the interviews, which we'll match your outfit to. Would you like that?"

Like was not exactly appropriate. She didn't like anything in the Capitol. It was loud and busy and unfamiliar. She desperately wanted to be home with Mrs. Owl and the other orphans. There wasn't much love there, but it was familiar. But she knew that wasn't an option. So she nodded.

"Very good. The knitting materials are over there." Quint pointed.

At least the yarn was familiar. She picked up a few that she liked the feel of and held them all the way until her and Lucien were returned back to their apartments.

**AN: I am running out of things to say in these, but I do like mentioning who did which tribute. So this chapter we had Cordelia Korver by Whareverisopen, Titania Topaz by Queenofinsanity, and Arachne Weber by sherazade96. We're almost done with tribute introductions, and the parade is coming up too. Thank you everyone for reading, and please review!**


	14. Angels and Architecture: The Apartments

**Serena May Lenovius, District Seven**

_How are you feeling about the Parade tomorrow?_ Tullia, one of the Avoxes on Serena May's floor asked.

_Nervous_ she signed back, _It's going to have a lot of people and be very loud._ Which was true, if not the complete truth. It was not that Serena May was avoiding talking about architecture, and how despite the circumstances she was looking forward to being in the middle of all of those beautiful buildings. Or how she was getting a little restless being stuck on one floor of a building, unable to feel the dirt under her nails or the wind in her face. It was just that even in her preferred communication method of signing, that took a lot of words. And words were not her favorite thing.

_I know someone who works with the horses. I think he could bring you some earplugs. _Tullia answered. Serena was about to thank her when her escort Callista barged in.

"Serena, what are you doing in here? This section is for avoxes only."

She reached over to the tablet that the Capitol had provided for her and typed in a few words. "My name is Serena May. Not Serena." The machine read out, a gentle female voice with a Capitolite accent. She had chosen the voice from several options. She liked the way the vowels rolled, like the wind rustling through the trees in her home district.

Serena May found she didn't hate the Capitol as much as she thought she would. Things were too bright and too fast and too focused on flash to have any real substance. And yet underneath all of that needless glitz was the skyline: subtle, understated beauty. Serena May had always enjoyed the shapes of buildings, the geometric designs that walked the line between style and support. There were places here that filled her with a deep awe. But it wasn't Seven. There were no streams she could walk beside. No great oaks to climb to the top of. So she took her reminders where she could get them. Even if it was in the small details of a digitized voice.

"Right. Serena May. You shouldn't be here." Callista said.

"I thought the entire floor was for my use."

"Well… yes. But there's no reason for you to be here I suppose."

"I was talking with my friends." She answered.

"Serena, you've been here a day." Callista was already trying to drag her towards the main living room, "No one makes friends that quickly. And even if you could, these are Avoxes. Best left alone."

Serena May had found that those society said were best left alone were always the most interesting to talk to. _I hope I didn't get you in trouble._ She signed to Tullia.

_It's nothing we can't handle. We can talk after the parade tomorrow. Ask the Avoxes for Polonius. He'll have the earplugs._

Callista didn't notice the conversation, so Serena May was finally able to thank the woman before she was ushered out of the Avox quarters.

**Issa Williams, District Eleven**

The painting was almost finished. It was a relatively simple one, a still life of some oranges in a bowl. Issa had always liked oranges. The color was so vibrant. He would often look at them and admire them in the oranges before a peacekeeper realized he wasn't working quite quickly enough. Yet despite how straightforward it was, this was probably the most extravagant thing Issa had ever made.

The paints alone were probably worth more than his house. He was used to working with whatever he could scavenge. A piece of charcoal here, a pencil or two there. He had a light blue colored pencil that he had found near the head peacekeeper's house as he was walking home one night that he treasured as if it was a precious gemstone. Being able to work with paints of this fine quality was something he had never truly expected to happen.

For a moment, he thought about what would happen if he won the Hunger Games. He would be rich, so he could afford these kind of paints all of the time. In fact it would be encouraged, since victors all picked up talents. He could paint all day, not having to worry about where his food was coming from or if his mother was all right, or if someone was going to stab in a fight over money like his father. It would just be him and fine white canvases. He would present the art to the Capitol, who would fall in love with it and shower him with praise. Issa would never have to worry about anything ever again.

It was a dream, and a particularly far fetched one. Issa understood that. He knew his chances, and a part of the reason for him painting like this was in order to prepare for his own death. No matter what happened after this night, he had been able to use some of the finest materials in the country. But he couldn't help from dreaming, thinking of a future that could be.

Dreaming was important, he decided. It was the only way he was going to be able to get through this at all. Without a firm picture of what could be, it was always difficult to keep going. So Issa thought up possibilities and alternatives, bright glimmering futures that he could almost reach. Promising himself that if he just kept on this path, and kept his wits about him, he would finally be able to find a way out of his grim life.

He finished the painting with an unnecessary flourish, smiling a bit at what he had oranges shone from inside the ornate porcelain bowl like a sunset A bright happy promise of what could be, just as long as the circumstances were right. He set the canvas over by his window to dry.

Tomorrow, he imagined the oranges would look different. They always did after the paint dried, as things thickened and solidified. But he imagined that brightness would stay. He headed to bed, dreaming of all of the things that would happen far past tomorrow. Of a future where he was out of the Hunger Games and standing in a bright, beautiful world.

**Mattock Coccia, District Twelve**

It was late. Midnight at the very earliest, probably later. Mattock thought he had heard birds chirping slightly outside his window, something that only happened when dawn was only a few hours away. Yet he found himself wide awake. He mostly justified it as being in a strange place. The birds were the most familiar sound he had heard so far, and even then they were not the same birds as the ones in District Twelve. The calls were different, alien to him. Not a single mockingjay, or any other identifiable sound.

But there was something else. He wasn't sure what exactly, but he had a feeling in his gut that there was a reason he had woken up. That's when he heard it: A soft but unmistakable clamoring coming from somewhere else in the apartment.

He thought briefly about staying in his bed and pretending to sleep until whatever it was passed, but curiosity got the better of him. He slowly rose out of his bed and walked out to where the noise was.

The sounds led him to the kitchen where Anthracite was blindly bumping her way into making a sandwich.

"You know, it's probably easier if you turn the lights on." He said. Mattock could see Anthracite jump slightly in the dark.

"I didn't want to wake anyone. I'm sorry that I did." She fumbled around for a few more moments before giving in and turning on the light switch.

"I don't think it was you. I've been having trouble sleeping." He answered, and started to make his own sandwich beside her. It was a natural feeling, being next to her. Something that had been a constant for years.

"Me too." She admitted, smiling at him slightly. And suddenly, things weren't so constant any more. Mattock had been seeing her smile for years, but lately it had been catching him off guard. It was the kind of smile that lit up the room. There was something angelic about her, hair messy and pajamas rumpled from trying to sleep. He was so busy looking at her that he almost cut himself with the butter knife he was using to spread jam.

"Are you all right?" Anthracite asked.

"Yes. I'm fine. Not fully awake yet, I guess." He answered. Although he was far from fine. It was just a few months ago that Mattock had realized he loved her. There had been a heat wave in District Twelve. It had reached the point that the mayor declared a state of emergency, and created several stations with free water and air conditioning. Unfortunately Anthracite was recovering from a broken leg. She couldn't make her way to the cooling stations, and her parents were busy working. Mattock came to visit her after work one day to find her half delirious from Heat Stroke. Luckily he managed to get her to a medic, but the thought of losing her had made him realize just how much she meant to him.

Except then they were both reaped.

"You're doing that thing aren't you?" Anthracite said.

"What thing?"

"That thing where you hurt yourself instead of worry people. You never know your own limits. Let me see." She said, taking his hand.

"It's fine Double A. It's a butter knife. Have you _ever_ heard of someone cutting themselves on a butter knife?" He was being over dramatic, something far more suited for Anthracite. He was going to have to focus if they were to find a way out of this mess. And he was certain there was a way. Mattock was a firm believer in silver linings. He could find the positive in any situation. He hadn't quite found one for the Hunger Games, but he was working on it. He just had to stop thinking about Anthracite and her heavenly smile.

Anthracite frowned a bit, but when she saw there was no cut let go of his hand. "What are we going to do Matty?" she asked.

"Stick together." He answered, "Like we always have. And like always we'll be ok."

**AN: We did it! Every single tribute has been introduced! Everyone give a warm welcome to Serena May Lenovius by Luna's Fanworks, Issa Williams by Civilwarrose, and Mattock Coccia by CuriousClove. This has been a ride, yeah? I'm hoping to keep going next chapter with the Parades. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, I hope you enjoy!**


	15. Chariots and Conspiracies: The Parade

Minerva was pressed for time, which admittedly wasn't unusual during the Games. The annual event was a rather large undertaking, from the arena design to logistics of bringing twenty four children in from the districts to event planning for the parade and interviews. Everything had to be televised, meaning a massive bump in filmographers and technicians. Peacekeepers had to be given hazard pay after the events of the 74th through 76th games had resulted in numerous deaths.

And that was just the issues regarding the Hunger Games. Matters of state didn't stop the moment of the reaping. She had international meetings, a bill the council wanted her to look at, ongoing unrest in the districts, and a stupid gala that she really didn't want to attend. The president of Panem was a bit of a thankless job. The responsibility of the whole country laid on her shoulders. One thing went wrong and it was automatically her fault. But the power was far more limited than many people realized. The council had the ability to override many of her orders, and she felt like half of her time was spent trying to swing them to her point of view.

Still, it was worth it. Minerva cared deeply for Panem, and didn't quite trust anyone else with its welfare. So she did what she had to, on what little time she had.

"I need someone to get this package to the Wren suite." she said, not particularly caring who fulfilled the order. She was in the President's Box, waiting for the parade to begin. Several other officials were with her, milling about and trying rather desperately to win her favor.

"I'll do it." Dax offered, which surprised Minerva slightly. But she gave the medium sized box to the Victor's physician anyway.

"Don't open it."

"Of course, Madame President." He said, then scampered away rather quickly. She wondered if the reason he had volunteered was so that he could get away from her for a found this strangely flattering.

A horn sounded, signalling that the tributes were about to arrive. Her errand safely dealt with, she turned to the long stretch of road where the chariots would soon appear. Parades were one of her least favorite things about being President. They were garish, over long, and she always had to deliver a speech by the end of it. Speeches were the word equivalent of everything she hated: pretty and empty. She didn't even get to write them herself anymore, depending on a rather bright recent graduate from the University to do it for her. It freed up some of her valuable time, but it meant that she couldn't sneak in intricacies and inside jokes to them in order to keep herself occupied.

She was thankfully torn from her train of thought by a flash as the lights of the promenade reflected off something in the distance. Minerva squinted a bit to adjust her eyes, then smiled. The tributes had finally arrived.

District one was absolutely dazzling, in a pair of formal wear entirely covered in gemstones. Titania's sapphires brought out the cool undertones of her dark skin, the sharp angles of the tailored tuxedo highlighting her sharp features. She waved at the crowd slowly, with a half smile that oozed confidence. Diamond was equally impressive in a shining white diamond ball gown, cut in a way to accentuate the strong arms of the otherwise diminutive boy. There was a strength to the design, as well as an elegance. He seemed less confident than his district partner, but smiled and waved to the crowd. They were both absolutely stunning. Minerva wasn't surprised. Apollo and Diana were the finest designers in the Capitol. They had made the tributes shine as bright as their clothing.

District Two came up next, and the President felt slightly bad for them. Their costumes were not exactly bad, but she was not sure at first what they were supposed to be. Both tributes had on Geometric garments in grays and browns. Zella's hair was swept up in a high ponytail, the red cascading down almost like an erupting volcano. That thought was what made Minerva realize what it was. They were dressed like mountains: most likely to resemble the Nut. She did appreciate the outfits once she understood them, but based on the confused expression on Dash's face as he tried to smile at the citizens no one had actually managed to inform the tributes.

District Three had on a rather unconventional look. The stylist had clearly drawn inspiration from the fact that the two tributes were careers as they were dressed in armor that was clearly inspired from ancient Roman gladiators. However, both suits of armor were made out of bits of electronics. Minerva could see wires and microchips. On occasion a light would blink, or a fan would start to spin. Both Ashlar and Elixane composed themselves well. They were not fidgety and nervous, looking every bit as much a pair of careers as the previous districts had. Minerva was not sure what to think about the new Career development, but seeing the way they presented themselves made her think it might work out after all.

The crowd began to roar, and President Thornewood craned her neck to see what had gotten them in such a state. The chariots so far had been excellent, but aside from District One the response had not been quite that loud. Then the chariot from Three cleared and she could finally see District Four. The girl was dressed as a siren, decked out in greens and blues with a patterned scale skirt to give the illusion of a fish tail. The boy was dressed as a sailor in a crisp white uniform. They were lovely costumes, and she could tell the craftsmanship was high, but given what had come before it seemed a little unremarkable. The tributes from four clearly didn't let that stop them. Cordelia had somehow climbed on top of the back of the chariot, balancing precariously as she crooked a beckoning finger towards her district partner. Below her, Seaward pantomimed an overdramatic heartsick sailor, reaching his arms out towards her and stumbling around the chariot.

It was at this point that Minerva figured they were due for a dud. She had never seen a tribute parade with every costume being quality. Partially this was by design. The career districts had renowned stylists, competent designers with years of expertise behind them. The outer districts on the other hand had rookies or designers caught up in a scandal trying to get back in the good graces of the Capitol. But it did mean that the parade usually started well but declined in quality.

So she was pleasantly surprised to see that District Five's costumes were solid. Not impressive exactly, but solid. Tesla was dressed in a simple beige dress with a blue ribbon around her waist, and her partner was in a matching pantsuit. Except coming out from behind them were large rectangular panes. Their stylist had made them into windmills. It was not a concept she saw that often, and Minerva was thankful for the creativity.

Six was more what she had been expecting. They were trains. At least Minerva thought they were trains. The tributes wore blocky structures across their middles. She idly thought that they looked like children playing with cardboard boxes. The boy was wearing a conductor's hat and looked like he was trying to hide underneath it. The girl however, wore no hat. Instead her head was in full view, shaved closely and inky black where hair still remained. The patterns looked familiar to Minerva, so she looked closer. Suddenly she realized that she was staring at Orion, and if she focused towards the back of the girl's head she could see parts of Cassiopeia. She had a whole star chart etched into her scalp. She waved at the crowd, clearly trying to make the best of her bad costume.

District seven were a pair of trees. Minerva sighed to herself. She realized lumber didn't give a stylist a lot to go on, but trees were beginning to get old. The girl's design was interesting at least. She was a willow, and had fronds attached to her shoulders. The boy unfortunately was a redwood. It made him look rather distinguished but she had seen it a million times. Minerva wondered if perhaps theming these rides off of the industry of the district was a little played out at this point. She made a note to herself to change it next year.

District Eight was often the exception to the decline in quality rule. As the textiles district, stylists often had many ideas to choose from and tributes that were at least familiar with fashion. This year proved dazzlingly true. The girl was dressed in a dark green dress that was segmented to make her look rounder, and eight black scarves trailed behind her, wrapped around wire to give them some shape. A spider, Minerva realized suddenly. Which explained the white scarves she was holding in her hands. The scarves were connected to her district partner Lucien. One of them wrapped around his eyes, the other around his waist. Aside from that the model was completely naked. Minerva could hear appreciative whoops from the crowd.

District Nine were dressed as stalks of wheat, with long tall hats that swayed slightly as their chariot moved. It was a lackluster chariot, as to be expected of nine, but it was notable in that this was the first district that didn't seem to be trying to appeal to the crowd at all. The girl was flat out glaring at the audience, causing some of them to completely stop cheering for a moment. The boy stood there stoically, his eyes fixed straightforward. He was young, Minerva noticed. Younger than she had originally realized. During his reapings there had been a bit of maturity to him. But as she looked at him he just seemed scared.

That led to Minerva's least favorite district. Ten always seemed to be cows. Sometimes she would get a break and get a cowboy. But it was almost always cows. Last year's victor Blaire Offerseed had been a cow. Kaenas Moreau had also been a cow, though since he had been rather attractive several decades ago some stylist had gotten the ill conceived notion to make him a 'sexy cow'. And this year, the tributes were once again cows. Weren't there any pigs in District Ten? The tributes at least seemed to be trying, as opposed to the Nines. The girl tribute was beaming and blowing kisses to the crowd while the boy had gotten a lasso somehow and was showing off some rope tricks. They seemed charming tributes and Minerva felt a bit of pity for the fact that they came from the worst district.

District Eleven's chariot was surprisingly strong. Clearly their stylist was a rookie and had decided this was a good opportunity to get his name known. The girl was in a long purple dress with round attachments reminiscent of grapes. Minerva remembered her name was Violet and couldn't help but appreciate them sticking to a color scheme. Twenty four tributes was quite a lot and she appreciated anything that helped her remember names. Her partner was wearing brown pants and an orange shirt with similar attachments. Oranges, she imagined. Fruits were not something she saw a lot in the parades and couldn't help but appreciate it, even if the design itself was clearly that of someone inexperienced.

That left only District Twelve to go, and Minerva was glad it was finally about to be over. Parades were always so exhausting, and she still had to do her speech. The girl came out in a jet black geometric dress, slick and sharp. The boy next to him wore a miner's outfit, which was normal. Except it actually looked good, well fitting and in a color that complimented the boy's eyes. He also had a headlamp that glowed brightly.

"Who did this?" Minerva said sharply.

"A new designer pair named Polyphemus Kensington and Scylla Pine. I hand picked them myself." Nautilus said from beside her. Minerva was not sure when se had shown up, but was glad se was here.

"Why?" she demanded. It was an unspoken rule that the outfits for district Twelve had to be ugly. It was punishment for the second rebellion. Perhaps when they had gone through the One Hundredth games the Capitol would forgive that district, but somehow Minerva doubted it. It was not just spite, it was caution. Everyone knew what had happened last time the tributes from District Twelve had made a good impression at the parade.

That was when it hit her. Nautilus was not just following directions, but taking initiative. She had said that she wanted to fuel a rebellion, and se had taken steps to make sure it happened.

"What would I do without you?" Minerva said.

"Just wait." Nautilus answered, "It's not done yet."

Almost as if the tributes had heard ser, the girl from Twelve reached up and tugged one of the square protrusions on her outfit. The boy then pulled down the light on his headlamp. Suddenly the costumes started to morph. The girl's outfit changed from deep black to a brilliant radioactive green. And the boy's lamp turned off and came apart to become goggles as his outfit shimmered then shifted from a miner to a plant worker. The stylists had chosen to honor not only the industry of District Twelve, but the remnants of District Thirteen that lay within it. The crowd erupted in roars.

It was a rather strong year, all things considered. Minerva still hated parades, but she had at least enjoyed herself a little. Now all she had to do was give her address and she could go home to deal with the next crisis.

"Citizens of Panem," She started, then looked down at her notes. It was terrible. Eloquent perhaps, but bland. Perhaps she should hire another speech writer. Or go back to writing her own like she had before she became President.

She said a few more sentences of her speech, but realized that she couldn't hear the familiar echo of the microphone. She had been cut off somehow. A tech in her box scrambled to the microphone controls as she tapped the mic experimentally. Nothing. She looked over to Nautilus, who shrugged. Not one of ser schemes then. That was not reassuring. The crowd was beginning to murmur lowly with uncertainty and impatience.

Then suddenly she heard a voice. It was one she recognized, Arthur Brownstone. She was one of her advisors and the liaison to District Five.

"We have prevented the strike for now, but District Five is stubborn. If we don't find some way to keep them in line, it will only happen again." His voice carried through the entire crowd, and while there was some panicked whispering soon the promenade fell silent.

Minerva felt a pit form in her stomach. She recognized this conversation. How it had been recorded, she had no idea. But it would do her no favors to have it played in front of Panem.

"I wouldn't worry." She heard her own voice come through the speakers, "The reapings are coming up. I have the feeling that the mayor is going to have other things on his mind."

"Are you implying that you have fixed the reapings for District Five?"

"Arthur. Why are you talking as if we haven't done it before?"

The recording fizzled out and was replaced by the sharp screech of feedback. The microphone was back online, and all of Panem was staring at President Minerva Thornewood. She looked at her speech, then balled it up with her fist.

"Happy Hunger Games." She said, then turned around and left.

**AN: That chapter was /hard/. Why did I decide to show every outfit? And then put Plot in there of all random time? I don't know, but here we are. If anyone remembered that I actually mentioned the District Five strikes in chapter three, they get a cookie. Anyway, I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. So much going on! We go to training next chapter, which is bound to be fun. Thank you everyone for reading.**


	16. Where there's smoke

**Kaenas Moreau, District Ten Mentor**

"You came!" Hebe hugged Kaenas and squealed rather enthusiastically when she saw him and Blaire come through the door. It was the night after the chariot rides, and Hebe had rented out a community space in the Capitol for one of her parties. Most of the guests were victors, though he could spot a couple of stylists and escorts milling around. The food was not half as extravagant as most Capitol functions, but there was a nice cheese plate and Hebe had managed to bake a few different cookies and pies for the occasion.

"I said I would." Kaenas grumbled. "So I'm here."

Hebe didn't seem affected by his grumpiness. "I'm glad to see you. And Blaire too! Hi. Anyway, welcome. Enjoy yourselves. We've got about a week until we have to see everyone die, so we should try to make it an enjoyable one."

Blaire scanned the entire room as if looking for someone, then walked over to the cheese plate without another word.

"She's been through a lot." Kaenas said, though he wasn't sure why. He never explained his own rudeness so it was strange to defend someone else's.

"Oh it's no problem. I was like that for years after Mr. Wren got his hooks in me." Hebe looked over to Blaire who piled up a small plate of food, "Wish I could do something more than bake her cookies, but he's got the ear of President somehow. Moving against him is… complicated."

Kaenas didn't know exactly what to say to all of that so he changed the subject.

"So what happened today. Was that you?" He asked.

Hebe walked to a slightly more secluded area of the party and Kaenas followed. "Well I'm not really sure I can take much credit for it. The Jack of Hearts was the one who got the recording. Ace of Spades got it hooked up to the sound systems, and the King of Clubs took out the president's microphone. I just gave them the idea and served as backup."

"I know I agreed to help you with this, but I am not going to take a stupid card name."

"Don't worry, only the four of us do that." Hebe reassured him, "Though if I pull a couple strings I might be able to pull off a stupid chess reference."

"If you do that I will quit. No rebellion on earth is worth that kind of humiliation" he said.

Hebe giggled, but it was short lived. She sighed for a moment, then walked to the table and came back with a bottle of wine and a glass each.

"I don't really drink." Kaenas said.

"Fair. But maybe just hold it so I don't feel weird drinking?" She asked.

Kaenas thought it was a strange request, but he was willing to hold a glass for a few minutes if it made Hebe more comfortable. She poured them both a glass, then grabbed hers and quickly downed the liquid.

"I didn't actually want to do it." Hebe confessed, "It weakens the President, gives us an opening. But that poor girl. If she dies she becomes a martyr, if she lives everyone will be fighting over her image."

She filled her glass again, "To a future where change is no longer built on the bodies of dead children."

Kaenas had never seen her quite like this before, defeated and cynical. Hebe had always been a source of light to him. He decided she still was, but she wasn't the teenage girl he had met all of those years ago. She was older, more pragmatic, more aware of how difficult the situation is. And somehow she could still make that toast, if only to a friend in private. She was still working her way towards a better future.

"I'll drink to that." Kaenas said.

And he did.

**AN: Right, so I know I said training would be the next chapter, and people don't really read SYOTs for subplots, but I felt like this little interlude was needed. So I wrote it! Go figure. I am starting on training pretty much now, so the next chapter will be quick. But for the moment, thanks for reading and enjoy!**


	17. Fight and Flight: Training begins

**Ruben Ashven, District Ten **

"Can you be quiet for five seconds?" Ruben's mentor Kaenas growled. He was always a little bit short tempered, but this morning he was being particularly cross. Ruben suspected that the man was hungover. Which was unfortunate, but he could roll with that. At least his mentor had shown up at all. Today was the first day of training, but he had asked Kaenas if perhaps they could get up in the morning and get a head start. Ruben had always been an early riser. When you worked with cattle like he did, there wasn't really an option. So he decided it would be best to use this to his advantage.

"I'm trying." he said, "But I'm not very good at it."

Kaenas wrote that down in a notebook he had brought, before putting it down and taking a drink out of a comically large water bottle. "Stealth isn't your strong point. Good to know. You're that herding prodigy everyone in ten talks about though, right?"

Ruben nodded. "I don't mean to brag, but I'm probably the best cattle herder my age."

"I saw you used a lasso during the chariots. How good are you?"

Ruben was confused. His mentor had asked him to be quiet, but now was asking him questions. And he had asked for training, not an interview. Not having something to do was already eating at him. He had thought he would train for combat or something, not have a question and answer session.

"How about I just show you?" He said, He grabbed the lasso that his stylist had let him keep from last night and got it swinging. He didn't try to do any fancy tricks this time. That was mostly for show, after all. Ruben wanted to prove to Kaenas that he was a contender, that he wasn't a waste of time like Carlotta seemed to think he was.

Kaenas put down the water bottle in order to write down more notes and Ruben took that as a moment of opportunity. He launched his lasso, which landed neatly around the object. With a tug, the water bottle came flying towards him and Ruben caught it with one hand. Feeling a little triumphant, he opened it and took a sip.

That caused Kaenas to put down the notebook. Ruben smiled a bit as his mentor stood up and walked towards him. The older man took his water bottle back, then reached out with a large hand and pushed Ruben. He went down instantly.

"Not great in close quarters though." Kaenas said, drinking some more water and returning to his seat.

"Well sure, but I'm fast and I can dodge well." Ruben protested, "I'm not a waste of time. You'll see. Don't give up on me."

Kaenas raised his eyebrow, "What makes you think I would?"

Ruben cursed for a moment. That was something he should have kept to himself, "I saw your games. You're strong. Which makes sense, you're a blacksmith. And Carlotta works at a butchery."

"So you're concerned that I am going to play favorites because she's strong and you're not."

"Also she's psychotic, which I imagine is an advantage when trying to kill people." He said, then regretted it. His already low filter was particularly bad today.

"Carlotta's not my tribute. You are." Kaenas said, "And If I thought you were a waste I wouldn't be writing anything down. But I can't help you if I don't know what your strengths and weaknesses are."

Ruben could feel some tension leaving his body as his mentor said that. "So you don't find me annoying?"

"Oh I find you annoying." He said, "And exhausting. But I'm annoyed and exhausted by most people. That doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. It doesn't even mean I don't like you."

Ruben couldn't help it. He rushed forward and hugged Kaenas. "Thank you. But I mean it, I won't let you down."

"I'm glad. But please let go of me."

**Seaward Waters, District Four**

The victors in District Four had told Seaward that the training center was a very popular site for investors, and therefore was constantly being updated. However, even knowing this he was shocked at just how advanced the place was. When they had arrived, the tributes were all fitted with skin tight white suits with multiple tiny sensors embedded into them. They were informed that the sensors would be able to pick up their physical capabilities as they trained, giving information to the gamemakers. It also was programmed to emit a forcefield if anyone attempted to initiate a fight with another tribute.

The survival stations all had digital guides complete with video demonstrations and a link with the tribute suits to help give feedback, and there were three holohalls for immersive combat training: melee, ranged, and hand to hand. All three had an obstacle course function.

Seaward had spent most of his life in and out of training centers, but had never seen something as thorough and advanced as this building. It was a shame that he was only going to be here for a week. He could imagine himself easily staying here for months.

He was currently in the ranged holohall, waiting for the girl from Eleven to be done with her routine. She had chosen a basic program and was doing rather average at it, but he noticed the way she casually brought the bowstring back and held it without a second thought. Her act may have fooled most people, but Seaward knew his ranged weapons. He was willing to bet this girl did too, and was saving just how much she knew for the gamemakers.

He looked over to his right, where the boy from six was waiting for his turn as well. He held on to a large recurve bow that was almost as big as he was.

"Are you going to use yourself as an arrow?" He joked. The boy didn't speak, merely looked away and gazed intently on the floor.

"You know you don't have to be a dick, Four." The girl from Eleven said, coming up to the two of them as her training routine finished.

"Take it easy, Katniss Everdeen, I was only joking."

"We're about to go into the games in a week." She snapped at him, her gaze cold and humorless, "This is hardly the time for jokes."

Seaward held his hands up in surrender, though he imagined even that was too goofy for her. He resented that she thought he didn't take the games seriously. Of course he did, he had been preparing for them for years. But he didn't know how to do something seriously. Whenever he was even a little nervous the jokes just came out.

"Have you considered using a crossbow?" The girl from eleven had decided to ignore Seaward and instead focused on the young boy next to him, "Most of them have winches, so you can focus less on the strength aspect and more on actually aiming."

"My district partner's mentor won the games with a crossbow." He answered.

"You should ask her for pointers. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

The boy nodded, then scampered off to find a crossbow to practice with. The girl gave Seaward one last scowl, but he paid her no mind. It was time for him to use the holohall.

He was proficient with both bows and crossbows, but had chosen to use a shortbow for this particular exercise. He chose a particularly difficult routine, with maximum enemies, then waited as the holograms began to hum to life.

Suddenly, he was in the middle of a forest with a cornucopia in front of him. Twenty four tributes were all around him, and unlike what would happen in an actual games, they were all armed.

Seaward had done this so many times it felt as familiar to him as brushing his teeth. He reached into his quiver and launched arrow after arrow. Three enemies down. Nine. Fifteen. Finally, all twenty four were incapacitated. Seaward turned to see both the girl from eleven and the boy from six looking at him with shock in their eyes.

"So who's joking now?" he said with a smirk, then bowed dramatically.

The girl from eleven shot an arrow at him but the force field activated in time.

**Arachne Weber, District Eight**

"You've almost got it." The smiling woman on the instructional video said. Arachne was pretty sure that she did not in fact almost have it, but found the words reassuring nonetheless. She was not much of a fighter, and had the feeling that the combat training simulations wouldn't actually help her with that. So she had decided that the survival stations were her best bet. She was small and moderately fast. It was possible she could just wait people out. Unlikely, but possible.

This was what led her to the water purifying station, where an almost too friendly woman was showing her how to create a water completely out of natural materials. Arachne wasn't counting on having a lot of sponsors. Her mentor and entire prep team had tried to encourage her to be more assertive so that people would take more interest in her, but it felt entirely too uncomfortable for her. Particularly up against Lucien, who seemed to attract the attention of everyone around him with little effort. So she would be alone most likely, though that was how she liked things.

Unfortunately, making a filter was harder than it sounded. She had to poke holes in places and layer sand and charcoal in the correct order. Not to mention she had to get charcoal in the first place. It took longer than Arachne liked to admit to realize that she could get charcoal from burning a fire. But she hadn't actually done that station yet. It was rather depressing how hard just staying alive was.

"You're smart, doing this station first." She turned to see the girl from ten looking over at her. Carlotta, Arachne seemed to remember her name was, "There was a drought in ten a few years back. Dehydration hits everyone the same. And believe me it's not pretty."

The girl sat down next to her, and Arachne hid her face in her scarf. This didn't seem to deter Carlotta at all.

"Who made that?" She asked.

"Uh. I did." Arachne responded, "I learned a few years ago. Sometimes I sell them, though Mrs. Owl takes most of the profits."

"Mrs. Owl?"

"She owns the community home I live in."

Some sort of change came over Carlotta. When she had first sat next to Arachne she had been too kind, too sweet, too charming. Arachne had known too many people like that, knew that there was always poison in whatever honeyed words they said. But once Arachne mentioned a community home, her smile fell and her tone became far less sweet.

"I grew up in a community home too." She said, "They always have a habit of wringing everything you have, don't they?"

Arachne was shocked by the hate in the girl's voice, as well as how genuine she was being. She would be far too scared to say such a thing about her caretaker, but it was true. Mrs. Owl had put her to work the very second she could, working at factories or selling her scarves. Though where that money went, Arachne didn't know. She mostly ate tesserae grain and slept in a cold room with five other girls.

"Well. They are raising us. I guess they should get something." Arachne said.

Carlotta shook her head, her eyes narrowing, "They keep you barely alive and suffering, leeching off your talents. That's not worth any credit. What's your name?"

"Arachne."

"Let me tell you something, Arachne. There are good people in the world, presumably. Nice hopes, loving people, relationships that last. But those kinds of people don't give people like us the time of day. Don't give people the benefit of the doubt. They'll just end up hurting you."

Arachne felt ridiculous for being moved by Carlotta's words. They were harsh and they were cynical. But they were also the closest thing to kindness that anyone had shown her in a long time.

Her parents had died in a factory fire when Arachne was but an infant. In many ways she was lucky that someone had found her and bothered to send her to a community home at all. Mrs. Owl and the other children were the closest thing she had to a family. And she couldn't say that any of them particularly acted like it. Mrs. Owl was strict and cruel. Arachne suspected she was jealous of the children for something, but she didn't know exactly what. Often, the other boys and girls would learn from her and be cruel to each other in turn. To survive, Arachne had kept to herself. She lived like a stranger in her own home, barely talking. Barely getting any advice from anyone, harsh or otherwise. Carlotta had bothered to care, if only a small bit. Even if she died in the games, she would remember that.

"Thank you." she said.

"What did I just say?" Carlotta snapped, then got up with alarming swiftness and stormed off.

**AN: And we are into the second PoVs! Everyone is going to get two sections devoted to them before we kick things off, just so that everyone gets some time. I am not going to linger too much on training, but I am going to try and touch on the alliances that form and any other drama that may arise. The games are getting closer, are you excited? I'm excited.**


	18. Feuds and Food groups: Lunch

**Zella Waneta, District Two, Lunch on the first day**

"So I think we all need to discuss a few things." Titania said, and Zella would have punched her in the face if it would have done any good. What was this girl thinking? Sure, they very much did have talk over strategy, strengths and weaknesses of all of the careers, interview angles so that they weren't stepping over each other for sponsors in the early games. But the fact that _Titania_ had brought it up was particularly galling. These were her games, it was her year to shine. Yet here was a punk from One who thought just because she had a famous mom and a trendy undercut she was going to lead the careers.

"I agree." Zella said forcefully, deciding that now was a good time to take over. If she let this girl talk too long the other careers might get confused and start following her without realizing who was actually leading them this year. "How about we all say our weapon proficiencies, just so we know what we're working with?"

"I'm a sword guy." Dash offered. At least something was going right. The relationship between Zella and her district partner was still rocky, but they were both strategists at heart, and had spent the past few days looking at the other tributes together. He was falling in line rather well as her lieutenant, and she was glad to have him on her side. Even if his parents were filthy rebels.

"Also a sword." Elixane said.

"Spear." Cordelia said

"Really? Wow, I thought I would be the only one using a spear." Ashlar said.

"Well I do tridents, too." she replied.

Titania laughed. "One of the reason I picked polearms was because most careers don't specialize in them."

"Three spear users. Really? Well my parents are going to feel real bad about shaming me for choosing a boy instead of a spear like a good Four boy." Seaward joked.

"I use darts." Diamond offered, looking rather smug with himself about it.

"Well I use both a sword and bow. Which means that despite the spear thing, we have a good mix of close medium and long range proficiencies. That's going to be useful." Zella said.

"You seem to have a good head for this sort of thing." Titania said. Which pissed Zella off a bit. She was trying to hate this girl, why was she giving her a compliment?

"Thank you. It's what I do best." she said.

"I think you should be in charge of strategy."

Well, that conflict was over quickly. Zella was back to hating her again. Was this girl _delegating_? What was wrong with her?

"What did you just say bitch?" Zella said, then drew herself up as tall as she could given that they were all sitting down.

Titania unfortunately didn't seem bothered by the sudden aggression or profanities. "I had meant to start out with this, but we got a little sidetracked by weapons. We probably need to talk about who we want to lead."

Zella was absolutely furious.

"Like it's your fucking decision."

"It's all of our decision." Titania rebutted, "And the sooner we hammer it out the sooner we can work together as a team. So, I think it would be easiest to start by asking who _doesn't_ want to be leader."

Seaward raised his hand almost immediately. He was soon followed by Cordelia, Dash, Ashlar, and Diamond. Only Zella, Elixane and Titania remained. Zella had to admit that was pretty efficient. But only to herself because she wasn't going to give this asswipe any ground whatsoever.

"Don't the careers usually follow whoever gets the highest training score?" Elixane asked. It was pretty clear she believed that would be her.

"We could." Titania said, "But the best fighter won't always be the best leader. And we would have to wait until the end of training to figure out who's going to do it, which strikes me as a lot of wasted time. I also think that it might be a good idea to split duties up. For example, Zella could be our strategist. Help us draft plans of action, distribute resources, brief us on tributes. I saw you in the holohall earlier Elixane and your combat skills are exquisite. So maybe you could lead us during the actual battles."

Elixane seemed pleased with this. Zella thought less of her for it. It clearly showed she was weak willed.

"And what would you do?" Zella asked.

"This mostly." Titania said, "Lead discussions. Solve conflicts. Keep us all one cohesive unit. There's eight of us this year. That's a lot of room for disagreement. So we need someone who can keep us all talking to each other."

"Well you've just got it all figured out, don't you? This is absolutely ridiculous. Are any of you actually falling for this dyke's bullshit?"

The quiet descended so quickly that it made Zella dizzy. Everyone was staring at her now, but not the way she wanted them to.

"What did you just say?" Dash hissed. Right. He had a thing against homophobia. People were absurdly sensitive sometimes. But she could tell the mood had soured.

"I'm sorry." she said, "That crossed a line."

Titania was unreadable. But she nodded in acceptance of the apology.

"I think for the moment we should try the three leader strategy." Elixane said, then glared icily straight at Zella. This had clearly been a strategic error. She was going to have to gain control of the careers a different way.

"All right. I accept."

**Nettie Sue Monroe, District Nine, Lunch on the second day**

Rust was sitting alone again.

Nettie Sue tried to not care about it. It wasn't her business what Rust did or didn't do. She was in the middle of the Hunger Games, her own survival on the line. This wasn't like back in school where it was just the two of them against the world.

And yet, she couldn't get it out of her head. She had never been popular, and still wouldn't consider herself popular now. But it turned out that she had some talent with a bow, which meant a few of the outer districts were attempting to get her into an alliance. It made sense, since there were eight careers this year. The more people willing to have your back the better your chances.

It was a shame that Nettie Sue didn't believe any of them. Lots of people said they would support you when the weather was good. They would smile and reassure you and promise that nothing bad will ever happen to you. But none of those people were ever helpful when her father came home in an alcohol induced rage, or the girls at school bullied her so badly she dreaded getting up in the morning. It was difficult to know whether or not someone would be worth anything at all once the shit started to really hit the fan.

That was why she had started hanging out with Rust in the first place. Everyone in District Nine knew the circumstances of his birth. And like small minded people, they perpetually held it against him. She knew that Rust could handle the rough times because they were always rough for him. He was possibly the only person in their school who was bullied more than her.

Nettie Sue looked over at Rust dining alone one more time, and made a decision that she knew would define the rest of her life.

She took her lunch tray and sat down right across from him.

"I don't need your pity." Rust said. He didn't look up when she sat down, and Nettie Sue guessed that she didn't even know it was her. She remembered when she was younger she could tell someone was near her by the way the shadows moved. She hadn't looked up either.

"I'm not here because I pity you, you moron." Nettie Sue answered, which was true, "I'm here because I need you to swap me lunches."

That last part was only partially true. Mariana had kept her word about talking to the Avoxes, including the ones who prepared meals at the training center. Her portions were smaller than the other tributes, and only contained food that her prep lead personally approved of. Thankfully Nettie Sue was coming up with interesting ways of skirting her rules. She took some of the warm grain she had on her plate and shoveled it onto Rust's.

His eyes went wide. "Is that quinoa?" Rust asked.

Nettie Sue nodded. "Wild right?"

The thing she found particularly hilarious is that Mariana clearly had no idea what she was talking about. Quinoa was something that everyone in District Nine knew about. It was considered one of the greatest luxuries the district had to offer and reserved solely for the Capitol. Nettie Sue had once witnessed a public execution where the man's crime was stealing a handful of the grain. Yet here they were, giving it to her as some sort of punishment for her body. They had given her less than the other tributes, but the portion sizes were still the equivalent of two meals at home if not the entire day. She was constantly bombarded with fresh fruit and rich, leafy greens.

Mariana had told her she was restricting her diet, but Nettie Sue was eating more than she had in her entire life.

"I don't get it." Rust said, "The stuff they're giving us is good, don't get me wrong. But you're eating like a queen over here. Is that Spinach?"

"Bok Choy. Which is mine because it's delicious. Though I might give you a taste if you're nice to me."

"Exactly my point. Why are you trading this food away?" he asked.

She had to admit he had a point. Nettie Sue didn't hate any of the food that had been prepared for her. There were some things that were so full of flavor it made her feel uncomfortable eating it, remembering the times she had gone hungry and the people in her district who still were. At this point it was more the principle of the thing than anything.

"I don't like bullies." She said simply,

That seemed to answer the question to Rust's satisfaction. He nodded, and offered her some of his burger. It was delicious, like everything in the Capitol. And more importantly Mariana would lose her perfectly styled wig if she knew that Nettie Sue was eating it.

"So why are you really here?" Rust asked. He was a sharp one, always had been. Nettie Sue liked that about him.

"I want to be allies." she said, "Don't get me wrong it's not like I like you or anything. But I don't know any of these people. I don't know what they're capable of."

"Do you know what I'm capable of?" he asked, and Nettie Sue couldn't tell if he was challenging her or curious.

"I know your darkest secret." She said rather matter of factly, "I know the worst you've got. And I've also seen you fight against it for years. You're a good kid Rust."

Rust looked away, clearly uncomfortable with compliments. "You don't know that."

"I don't know much of anything right now. We're in a strange city, about to fight strangers to the death. It feels a bit like elementary school again, doesn't it?"

Rust giggled.

"Come on, we made a good team back then. We can do it again." she continued. Rust paused for a full minute, a look of concentration on his face. But she knew that it was merely for show. Finally he nodded and Nettie Sue smiled.

"Excellent." She said, "This calls for a celebration." She took her bok choy and split it in half, mixing some of it into her bed of quinoa and the other half in Rust's. Then she took a bite.

It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.

**Demetri Donovan, District Five, Lunch on the last day**

Demetri had not been this close to Lucien before. He had seen him at the parade, of course. And they would pass each other now and again during training. But they rarely talked, and there was always a casual distance between them. Except now Lucien was sitting right in front of him at the lunch table, hair perfectly coiffed and back enviously straight. The boy was beautiful, certainly. Demetri didn't care for boys like that but he had eyeballs. He looked less than a person and more like a work of art. It made Demetri alternate between staring too long and

"Don't you usually sit with the girl from Eleven?" he asked. Stupid question, but it was all he could think to ask. He was confused and perhaps a little suspicious about what the boy was doing over at his table. But he had to admit that he also didn't want him to leave. Demetri had tried to find friends, or allies, or even someone to talk to. But it had been hard for him. Everyone was focused on training for the games. Which he knew he should have been, but it wasn't quite that simple for him. He had meant to spend equal time among all of the survival stations, but had ended up accidentally spending three and a half hours at the knot tying section. Well, if they arena was full of rope he knew he would be fine, but wasn't entirely sure it would do much good otherwise.

He had thought that at least he would have Tesla to depend on. They were from the district after all, and when they had first boarded the train she had stuck to him pretty hard. It was both terrifying and reassuring to have someone depend on him, and he had made it a goal in his mind to keep her as safe as possible. But once it was revealed in the parade that she had been purposely reaped, Tesla had been far more withdrawn. She ate lunch with him during training, and was in fact sitting just to the left of him, but they hardly spoke. Demetri was starting to worry about her. Although he thought that maybe worrying about himself was more important.

"Oh yes, I'll go back to Carlotta in a moment." Lucien said. Right, Lucien. Demetri had gotten so distracted he had forgotten for a moment that the boy from eight was there at all, "I'm here on her behalf as well, actually. Haven't you heard? Five is the new Three?"

"What?" Demetri wondered if he always talked in riddles.

"Now that Three has decided that they want to go play soldier with the other upper districts, the role of the smart district falls to Five. Unless you aren't smart." Lucien said.

"I'm plenty smart!" Demetri protested. It was strange to say that so aggressively. He was used to hiding his grades and test scores, dumbing down everything he said and trying to avoid conversations about fusion or atoms. People didn't really like smart people, and Demetri very much wanted to be liked. But he had a sense that in this case his intelligence might be an advantage. Plus, someone saying he wasn't smart would be wrong. He couldn't just let wrong things pass without correction.

"Excellent." Lucien smiled, "So here is our proposal. I'm the looks, Carlotta is the brawn, and you my dear boy are the brains. Together we've got everything we need. You can even bring this darling here. She's adorable, and everyone has been talking about her after that gossip at the parade the other day."

Tesla shook her head and tried to hide her face in her arms.

"I think Tesla is of the mind that alliances made before the Hunger Games actually start are a little impractical, since you don't actually know who will be near you or what supplies anyone will have. Or who will die in the bloodbath."

Lucien laughed. "See, that /is/ smart! Clearly District Five is one to watch this year. So how about you? Are you thinking about going alone as well?"

Demetri didn't like the word alone. What he had said earlier was true, Tesla and he had talked about it before the chariots. Anything too formal was bound to break apart quickly. Although they said they wouldn't go after each other, and if they were in the same area would definitely consider working together. Demetri felt that was probably still true, even if circumstances had changed a bit. But he hated being alone. It was the worst feeling in the world. And if he was going to die, which was likely, he wanted to die among people who cared at least a little.

"I think an alliance is probably a good idea." He said, "So yeah. I'll join."

Lucien let out an uncharacteristic whoop, then was back to being composed. "Wonderful. Always good to have a genius on our side."

Demetri wasn't entirely sure he was a genius, but he appreciated the compliment.

"Ww do need to figure out what to do if we get separated though." Demetri said, "Because we probably will"

"I learned in the fire making section how to make patterns out of smoke. Would that work?"

"Only if you wanted to lead the careers right to us." Demetri answered. Lucien's face fell, looking like a kicked puppy, "But it's not a bad start to an idea. Maybe if we set the fire, but meet somewhere else, the careers will be drawn to the smoke but we'll already be gone."

Lucien started to beam again. "Like… we could set the fire, and that would be a signal to head back to the cornucopia?"

Demetri was worried that with as many careers as there were, there would probably be someone guarding the cornucopia at all times. But he was also stuck in the logistics of how to signal where to meet in an unfamiliar area while avoiding telling everyone else where you were as well. This at least had a chance of working. And the careers would definitely be led away, so even if someone was there, it would be much less of them.

"Yes. that would work." he said.

Lucien smiled once more, "Welcome to the team, Five."

**AN: I guess when everyone praises you for how fast you are, it will inevitably happen that you get a chapter that takes a while. In my defense, this chapter is large. And also I was sick. So… life happens. I'm technically still sick, but in the 'laying around doing nothing' way and not the 'staring at nothing for five hours because my brain is leaking out of my skull' way. So I should be able to update the next chapter a little quicker. Time moves kind of weird in this chapter, so I hope it makes sense. Anyway, thank you for reading. Please review!**


	19. Axes and Allies: Training ends

**Serena May Lenovius, District Seven**

Serena May watched with vague interest as her district partner went through the melee weapons simulator. The first day had been rather tragic for Tanner. He had objected to the simulations showing human beings instead of colored objects or bunny rabbits or something. This had earned a fair bit of snickers from the careers and the rather nasty nickname 'Rabbit'. Serena May had feared it would paint a target on his back.

She needn't have worried. Tanner seemed to have finally realized the situation he was in, and the humanoid shapes on the simulations no longer bothered him. Today he was using twin hatchets in each hand, and rather mercilessly tearing up his targets. Serena May had been watching the tributes long enough to see the differences between who had had combat experience and who hadn't. Even those with talent had a certain hesitancy to them. But Tanner had none of that. He had fought before, probably more than once. His objections hadn't been from an unwillingness to fight, like everyone had assumed at first. Perhaps he just didn't want to accept that in a few days he would have to.

Either way, everyone could clearly see now that Tanner Kelly was not a rabbit at all. Serena May was glad they had cemented an alliance early day two. Between them and the boy from Ten, she figured they would have something close to a chance. Tanner finished his simulation and Serena May signed him his congratulations.

While the speaking tablet had been welcome at first, it had rather quickly worn out its welcome. It was far too similar to actual speech, harsh and grating on her ears. It was better of course. She didn't have to deal with the vibrations in her throat or the way the sound echoed on the inside of her eardrums like when she actually spoke. But it was still something that she avoided when she could. They would require her to use it for interviews of course, but during training Serena May reverted back to sign and writing. Tanner didn't know the specifics of what she said, but he seemed to understand the sentiment. He handed her the hatchets with a smile and she stepped up to the center of the holohall.

Serena May was pretty sure that she was not as talented as Tanner was in the simulation. She had never truly fought anyone, and didn't have quite enough physical strength to do much damage. But she did all right she figured. It was her goal to be a jack of all trades, knowing enough about each subject that she could apply it to whatever situation happened to her in the Games. Most of the time she had been at the survival stations, and she felt like she had gathered quite a lot in the short time she had been there. But it was the last day, and Serena May was smart enough to realize that she would probably have to fight at some point. Conflict was rarely avoided forever in the Hunger Games.

"You're not bad." A voice said from behind her when the simulation finished. A voice that she recognized. Titania Topaz, tribute from District One.

Serena May was not particularly proud of her response. She jumped slightly, her hands automatically coming up to her face in a defensive position. This would have been perfectly fine if she hadn't also been holding a hatchet. It turned out that while the shield did wonders for fending off aggression from other tributes, it wasn't quite quick enough to stop a self inflicted injury. She let out a grunt of pain and instantly dropped both weapons.

"Medic!" Titania yelled, but Serena May shook her head. She didn't want a medic. There wouldn't be any medics in the Hunger Games after all. This was an opportunity if she thought of it a certain way. She clamped down on the wound to help staunch the bleeding and went through the first aid lessons that she had learned the past couple of days. The next step was to clean the wound.

She left the holohall promptly, leaving the hatchets on the ground and heading straight to the water purifying station. The two tributes from Twelve were there talking with each other next to a bucket of water they had finished purifying. She grabbed an empty bucket and held her arm over it, then poured water from the purified bucket onto the wound. They had boiled it, she could tell. It was no longer dangerously hot but it was still hot enough to send waves of pain through her body. She tried not to scream. The tributes from Twelve were already staring at her and Titania had followed her for some reason. If she wasn't careful, the whole training center would be watching her.

"Hey. How about you just sit down and tell me what you need." Titania offered. Serena May thought about . She was not guarenteed allies in the Hunger Games. But then again, there was nothing saying she wouldn't have them either. She had already made agreements with Tanner and Ruben. It was possible that she would have help after all. So she sat down and looked at the wound on her arm. It was deep, deeper than she had first thought.

She moved her hand in a way that mimicked sewing, but realized that since Titania didn't know sign she would probably have to break down and speak at some point.

"Stitches. You need stitches?" she asked and Serena nodded. "Are you sure you don't want to just go to the medic?"

Serena nodded again.

The career looked completely perplexed, but left to find supplies at the various stations. She returned with a needle, thread, some bandages and a small lighter. Serena May quickly got to work. It was painful, and perhaps incredibly unnecessary. But in a very short amount of time she would probably be doing this for real. She needed the practice. Needed to know the pain and the way it felt to sew up a wound and how to make sure that she made no noise even if every muscle in her body was screaming at her. She was used to not making noise, but that was voluntary. This was different. And if she didn't get it right now, she had no guarentee she would get it later.

"Well." Titania said when she was done, "That was possibly the craziest thing I've ever seen."

It was strange seeing the career so shaken. Serena May was certain she had seen injuries worse than this before. Probably had them worse. And she always seemed so in control, so cool and collected. Titania Topaz reminded her of a building: tall and elegant and beautiful.

Yet she was staring at Serena May like she had sprouted wings and flown around the training center.

Serena May did all she could think to do. She smiled. _Thank you_. She signed, and the other girl seemed to know that one.

"Uh. Your welcome." She replied.

It was the first time she had ever seen the girl from One lost for words.

**Issa Williams, District 11**

Raleigh cleared his throat, and Issa looked up from the paint he was making in the camouflage station. He seemed to do that a lot. Issa was not entirely sure what to think about the boy from Six, but Violet had chosen him as an ally and so he was trying really hard to be favorable.

Issa was not quite ready to give up hope, but three days of training had bruised his optimism a little bit. There were quite a few talented people going into the games with him. He had expected the careers to be deadly of course, they always were. But the girl from Seven seemed to pick up survival skills twice as fast as anyone, the pair from ten seemed far more combat capable than anyone had expected, and it turned out that Raleigh had an above average aim. Issa personally had nothing to bring to the table. He was a painter, a dreamer, quite and thoughtful. A combat zone was no place for him. That was why it was important to have allies, like Raleigh and Violet. It was why he clung to his district partner like his life depended on it.

"Do you need something for your throat?" Issa asked, "I think I saw something at the edible plants section that helped with that."

Raleigh shook his head. Though he did that a lot too, so it was hard to say if he meant no or not. "I'm fine. It's just my Tourette's"

"Your what?"

"Tourette syndrome." He explained, "It's a neurological disorder. I've had it my whole life."

"And it makes you… shake your head and stuff?"

Raleigh nodded.

"Can you stop it?"

"Not really." He said, "Sometimes I can delay it for a while, but it's kind of like a sneeze. Eventually it's going to come out."

Issa was not entirely sure what a neurological disorder was. Of course, he didn't know what a lot of things were. It turned out that District Eleven was not a great place to obtain information, especially if you were as poor as Issa was. Issues with more than four syllables were for rich people.

"Is it expensive?" Issa asked.

"The treatments are." He said, "There are some medications. Some therapies. But we've always been poor so it was never something we did. Figured it wouldn't kill me." Raleigh's expressions went dark and Issa realized that when a stray sneeze could be the difference between life or death in the arena, a condition like that could be very difficult.

"I grew up poor too." Issa said, trying to change the subject, "My mom, my sister and I got on all right though. And my sister got married recently so now there's just the two of us."

"What happened to your father?" Raleigh asked.

"He died. Mugging. I was really young though, I don't really remember it."

Raleigh was quiet at that, and Issa realized that if he was trying to stay away from difficult subjects maybe poverty and dead dads wasn't the best way to go. The boy cleared his throat a couple more times, and Issa realized that it had been a bit of a jerk move to be slightly annoyed by it. It was clearly something he couldn't control, and honestly it wasn't even that disruptive.

"You know, I think it's an advantage." Raleigh said after a full minute.

"What is?"

"Having difficult things happen in our lives. Those careers have been trained. But do you think they actually know what it feels like to be starving? Or to have someone you know die? They're not actually ready for this."

Issa felt a little self conscious that a thirteen year old seemed more mature than him. But he did find some comfort in the boy's words. He had felt a little lost the last couple days. Everyone had seemed so skilled, and he was just Issa. But the boy from six saw something in him. That had to count for something.

"I'm glad you're my ally, Raleigh."

"And I'm glad you're mine."

**Astra Porter, District Six**

"Have you decided what you are doing for your private training sessions?" Hebe asked. It seemed like a strange question to Astra. The sessions were less than an hour away, with only a short last individual training session and something called a 'physician's screening' to go before the gamemakers decided to reduce her entire existence to a number. There was not much you could plan in that short of time. Anyone who had a strategy had already thought of it.

Yet it embarrassed her to say that she didn't have a strategy at all. Astra was usually the organized one, the one with the plan. The smart kid who always thought ahead. But in this case, nothing had come to her.

"I'm not sure." She answered, "I've gotten fairly decent at knives. Thought maybe I could show that off."

"Have you considered showcasing your survival skills?"

Astra shook her head emphatically. She didn't get to this point out of sheer laziness. Astra had thought about the private sessions, and what she had to offer. It was just that she hadn't quite come to a conclusion on what she could show that the Capitol would actually take note on. But she had decided on a few things she definitely wasn't going to show.

"Survival skills never get good ratings." Astra said.

Hebe nodded her head slightly, "They are a bit blood fixated, yeah. But I have a couple questions."

"Sure. What are they?"

"How reliant are you going to be on sponsors?"

"Not very. I mean, I want some, but I don't think it's wise to rely on them."

"And your allies?"

"I already told you, I don't have any right now." Astra had mostly been looked over when it came to people looking for Alliances during training. She couldn't blame them, she hadn't really shown anything that impressive there. But it was not like she had been ostracized. Raleigh had offered to introduce her to the pair from Eleven that he had allied with, but Astra actually preferred to go alone, at least at first. Only one person could win the Hunger Games, after all. She wouldn't actively hunt anyone, but Astra would do what she had to in order to survive.

"So… Why do you need a high score at all?" Hebe asked.

The suggestion hit her like a lightning strike. Everyone knew that high training scores were good. It was pretty much universal common knowledge. But as Hebe mentioned it, Astra realized that there were several situations where a lower score would be preferable. Since she had no allies to protect her, she didn't want to paint herself as a threat. Sure, it would be best to get over a three to avoid being considered easy to kill. But anywhere from a four to a six would make her unremarkable to other tributes. It would be an added layer of anonymity, something that would be useful if she wanted to avoid combat.

"Thank you. That's a good idea." Astra said.

Hebe nodded again, stared at Astra with a contemplative look, then started to speak, "Would you mind if I cut this meeting a little short? Raleigh asked me if I could show him some last minute crossbow techniques.

Rage coursed through Astra, but she did her best to stay calm, "You're teaching Raleigh?" she asked.

It made sense, if she thought about it. Her district partner did seem to have a knack for the crossbow, which was the weapon Hebe was best known for in her games. She still kept the weapon, keeping it on a holster on her back even in places where weapons were not exactly polite. It would be foolish to let that kind of coincidence pass just because Hebe technically wasn't Raleigh's mentor.

Yet Astra couldn't help but feel slightly jealous. She liked Raleigh for the most part. She had rejected his alliance offer because she thought she was best on her own and not out of any personal vendetta. But hearing about this felt like some sort of portrayal.

There was only one person coming home, after all. And if Hebe was rooting for two different tributes to come home, that meant Astra would effectively be getting half the attention she was entitled to.

"Do you think that Raleigh has a better chance of winning than I do?" Astra asked.

She had expected an immediate answer. An almost reflexive denial and sweet words meant to soothe her ego. But they didn't come. Instead Hebe just stared at her, thinking, weighing the answers in her head. Astra respected that about the woman even as the silence began to form complicated knots in her stomach.

"I do." She answered finally.

Something within Astra snapped. She had always been a little contrary and stubborn. Her whole life people had been telling her what she could and could not do, and she had always taken it as a challenge. People telling her that she couldn't do something was how she had learned French and gotten down to an eight minute mile. And this seemed to be the ultimate no. Her own mentor seemed to back a thirteen year old over her. Well, she was ready to prove her wrong.

"Actually I'd like to use all my time." Astra said, and pulled a crossbow off of the nearby weapons rack, "Teach me."

Astra couldn't quite tell what Hebe's emotions were, but she eventually nodded and led Astra to the range, where they practiced until her escort came to retrieve her.

**AN: I'm still around, plugging away at this. I do seem to be a bit slower lately, but the chapters are also longer. And we get closer and closer to the games every day. Thank you lovely readers for supporting and liking this project. You rock.**


	20. Mind and Body: Physician's Screenings

**Anthracite Amber Weitz, District Twelve**

The doctor sitting in front of Anthracite was in his mid thirties, impeccably groomed, and stank strongly of alcohol. He had a kind smile, even if his eyes seemed mostly tired. She suspected that he was trying to make a good first impression. If not for the smell, she imagined he would.

"It's nice to meet you Miss Weitz." the man said, "My name is Dax Heavensbee, I am the Head Victor Physician."

"I'm not a victor though." she said. It seemed silly to her now that it was out in the open. But she couldn't take it back.

"Yet." He answered, "Sure, some people have better or worse odds. But the truth is, any one of you could be the Victor of the 93rd Hunger Games. So all twenty four of you are my patients for the moment, though we won't do much. I just want to do a general check up, talk a bit, and answer any questions that you may have. Does that sound all right?"

Anthracite nodded, and Dr. Heavensbee began his exam.

"Do you have any past conditions that I may need to know about?" he asked.

"Well…. I had a heat stroke recently. The doctors at the hospital said that it would make me more susceptible to it again. That kind of thing?"

"Exactly that kind of thing." He said, then frowned slightly as he examined her leg, "Your muscles in your right leg are noticeably less developed than your left. Were you in a cast recently?"

"You can tell?" Anthracite had to admit that was sort of impressive. Of course, it would probably take a very talented doctor to take care of a Victor after the Hunger Games. She had seen some terrible injuries in the past, many she had been unsure anyone would be able to fix. Though she had to wonder what kind of person would want that sort of job. Anthracite was positive that she wouldn't be able to do it. She hated the sight of people in pain. Which, as she thought about it, would make the Games fairly difficult. She was fast and capable, but that wouldn't do anything if she vomited at the first sight of blood.

She really hoped that she didn't vomit on live television.

"Miss Weitz?" Dr. Heavensbee broke her out of her thoughts, "How many meals do you have a day? On average."

"Three." she said, giggling a bit. It was a strange question. "Well sometimes when I'm late for school I skip breakfast. I probably shouldn't tell you that though should I? Breakfast is the most important meal or something."

The doctor smiled gently. "Your secret's safe with me. Now I have an injection that will help your leg recover from the atrophy it developed in the cast, so that it will be as strong as your other leg and you don't injure yourself further."

"Was that a possibility?" she asked.

"Yes. But it looks like you avoided that. Still, I keep telling people this needs to be done before training. I'm glad you avoided any permanent injuries." He said.

The fact that he needed her healthy because people didn't like to see injured people die went unsaid.

"Now this will pinch a little bit." He said, taking out a strange contraption and placing it on her leg.

"How much is a little bit?" She asked, then yelped as she felt a sharp pinch.

"That much." Dr. Heavensbee said, "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good." She answered.

Although if she thought about it, pretty good was a weird thing to be feeling right before the Hunger Games.

**Diamond Stark, District One**

"Good news Mr. Stark, you appear to be in excellent health." The doctor said, "Though you probably already knew that. District One is usually pretty good with preventative care of their tributes."

Diamond nodded. Part of the training academy was a rather rigorous health plan. One year he had suffered from a vitamin deficiency and was almost booted from the program. He ended up chugging foul tasting smoothies for a month until the problem resolved itself. The smoothies were also supposed to give him some extra mass, but his body was rather against bulk. It was something Diamond was eternally disappointed about.

"So how are you feeling?" Dr. Heavensbee asked, and something about it set off alarm bells in Diamond's head. It wasn't asked in a particularly hostile way. In fact it had been very personal. Intimate even. The look on the doctor's face made it clear that he didn't mean physically.

"Are you a doctor or a therapist?" Diamond asked, and watched the doctor's face to catch clues for if he lied.

"Both." He answered, "I have a medical license as well as degrees in Psychiatry and Psychology"

Diamond made a note of that in his head. It was a talent of his, and a necessary one. Particularly in the pregames, which were the best time to get to know all of his opponents. He had been keeping his mind open, analyzing both his allies and his enemies. The problem was he had been using it so often that he couldn't turn it off.

"And no one has a problem with a Heavensbee being this close to the Hunger Games?" he asked.

Dax looked mildly surprised, but gained his composure quickly, "I actually have this job because I'm a Heavensbee. It turns out to not be a particularly popular position. Victors are handfuls, medically speaking. Even after their games. It turns out that PTSD in survivors of a murder competition is pretty high."

"You're being blackmailed then? Just being related to a rebel doesn't strike me as enough. Is it related to the drinking?"

"No, the causality is reversed. I drink because I'm being don't worry, I don't drink on the job. Only thing I'm on right now is headache pills."

"Well what else is there then?"

Dr. Heavensbee paused, and looked up from his notes. It was the first time that the two of them had made eye contact. "I'm not supposed to have favorites, and I try to avoid it on principle. But I couldn't help but be impressed with you at the parade."

Diamond hadn't expected that. He had actually been worried that his stunt with the chariots would hurt his image. And even if it hadn't, Titania had clearly stolen the show. He had expected that. Titania was the type of girl who just naturally attracted all of the attention in the room. He was merely her shadow. Most of the time that suited him. People didn't pay attention to shadows, even if they were holding a knife.

"Is this a gay thing?" he asked. He felt like he was asking that a lot lately.

"Sort of." The doctor replied, "I admire your confidence. And how well you know who you are. When I was your age, I didn't know anything about myself. Which is how I ended up with a daughter. Lysistrata. When they realized how hard it was going to be to repopulate District Twelve,they started sending Capitolite criminals there. Lyssa's mother was arrested under admittedly suspicious circumstances and they were both sent to Twelve. She's fifteen right now."

"And if you don't do whatever you're told, she'll end up like the girl from Five."

"Exactly."

Diamond felt like he had asked too much. Like this was something he hadn't been meant to see. But he had always been a curious person. It was probably going to be the death of him, now that he thought about it. It wasn't anywhere near the top reason he had chosen to be a career, but there was a part of him that had always wanted to see what was beyond District One. A victor got to see every single district, something that almost no one else got to do, even in the Capitol. A tribute got to explore an arena made particularly for them. They got to test their wits and fortitude. There was an adventure to it, something that was a bit lacking in One.

But a drive for more meant that sometimes you got it. He suddenly knew entirely too much about someone that he may never see again.

"I admit I hadn't thought you would be that honest." Diamond replied.

"Well there's no real reason for me to hide it. Your odds are better than the others, but only one of you can win. Doesn't make sense to deceive someone in that kind of position."

Diamond was infuriated by the statement even as he understood the truth of it. It reminded him that he was the third choice for these games. And he had doubts that he would have been picked at all for his year. Without someone like Titania vouching for him he was smaller and physically weaker than the rest of the candidates. He was not the kind of person people looked at and thought 'winner'.

But Diamond understood his skills, and was confident enough in them to believe he had a chance. He was smarter than most, and could move without making any noise. People wouldn't see him coming, particularly among the more flashy and physical careers.

"My odds are better though." he said, "Much 's not unreasonable for me to say that you _will_ see me again."

"Very well. When I do, I will be perfectly happy to lie to you."

Diamond couldn't help but laugh, and it broke the tension a bit. Dr. Heavensbee asked him a few more questions, then cleared him to go to his private session.

He tried to get the conversation out of his wouldn't do him any good to think about it. If Diamond worried too much about someone he barely knew, he would get a sub par training score. And that could cost him his very life.

**Violet Beckingridge, District Eleven**

"I just keep going over it in my head." Violet said, "What I must have done. Or anything I could have done better. I keep going back to a few weeks before the reaping."

She wasn't entirely sure how they had gotten to this subject, or why she found Dr. Heavensbee so easy to talk to. But sooner or later they had ended up talking about her life at home and how she felt about being reaped. It was a strange sensation, talking to someone. She was not the type of person to dwell on her emotions. She was a hard worker, diligent and serious. She was the rock of her family, allowing others to cry on her shoulder while she kept food on the table. Even in the Hunger Games she had taken a bit of a big sister role, forming an alliance with Issa and Raleigh. But right now, there was no one in the room but herself and the doctor. It felt like a weight had been lifted.

"What happened then?" Dr. Heavensbee asked.

"A couple of boys from my brother's school were giving him trouble. We talked to the school, to their parents, nobody did anything about it. So one day Ethan came home with a black eye and I just… snapped. I confronted them myself, and it turned into a fight."

"Do you think you did the right thing?"

"I don't know." she sighed, "They were fourteen years old. Just kids really, and two of them hadn't hit their growth spurt yet. But I didn't hold back, and they lost pretty badly. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time. I needed them to stop bullying my brother, and violence was clearly all they understood. But… well, now I'm here."

"Now you're here." Dr. Heavensbee agreed, "Though could you please explain to me how these two things are connected? Do you believe that someone tampered with the reapings on behalf of those boys?"

"No nothing like that." Violet said, then paused. It was true that Dr. Heavensbee was surprisingly easy to talk to, and there was clearly a part of her that wanted to tell someone all that she was going through. But she had talked about the way she had felt before, and everyone she had ever told had laughed at her. She was told that she was being ridiculous, delusional even. She was not in the mood to be mocked minutes before she did her private session.

"I promise you, whatever it is I won't judge." The doctor said. Violet wasn't sure how he had managed to pick up on what she was thinking. Most people said she was difficult to read. But in this situation, she found herself comforted by the prospect.

"The world just… has a way of working out." She answered, "Sometimes it's not clear how. But if you work hard, keep to yourself, do the right thing, then good things will come to you. You think I'm crazy don't you?"

"No. Of course not."

"Are you lying?"

"Why would I lie to you?"

"To make me feel better."

"Would it really make you feel better if I was just lying to you?"

"Well…. No." Violet said, though the exchange had made her feel a tad huffy, "But I would have to know you're lying. So perhaps you think you're good enough to get it past me."

The doctor laughed slightly, catching her off guard. "I think everyone believes that the world has some sort of pattern to it, or wants to at least. It's just a matter of degrees. I respect your certainty. I sure hope that the world has some way of balancing things out, though I can't say I've ever seen it personally. Of course, like you said, it's not always clear."

Realization hit her like a lightning flash. She had been thinking about this all wrong. She was certain that being reaped for the Hunger Games was a death sentence, a cruel joke. Some sign that she had strayed from her path. But every year, someone won. And the prize was wealth and fame beyond imagining. If she became a victor, her family would never have to worry about anything again.

Perhaps this wasn't a punishment. Perhaps it was an opportunity.

"Thank you, Dr. Heavensbee." she said. He nodded, and she strode out of his office with a new purpose.

She could win the Hunger Games. All she had to do was work as hard as possible, and she'd find a way.

The world had a way of giving back what you put into it, and Violet was willing to put in a whole lot.

**Oh boy, it's been a while. Did you miss me? I missed you. And now we have the Physician's screenings, a part of the games I added in since we've got a doctor character and I thought it was a good way to look at some of these tributes. Next up is the private sessions, and I am absurdly excited. Also… kind of stuck in the house. So who knows, maybe this next chapter will be faster. Thanks for reading and please review!**


	21. Show and Tell: Private Sessions Part One

Nautilus Plume looked over the folders that Dax had given ser and sighed slightly. "This is just the physical reports. I need the psychological ones as well." Se looked up and noticed that the doctor was still holding a folder tight against his chest.

"You've never needed the psych reports before. Why this year?" he asked.

"Do we really need to do this Dr. Heavensbee? I could argue with you, and you could waste our time with a several minute monologue about your moral values. Or we could just skip to the part where you remember you have no power and do what I ask." Nautilus reached out ser hand expectantly, and Dax almost placed the file there before pulling away.

"Just a little one?" Dax said.

"Very well." Nautilus sighed a bit, but se had time. The private sessions weren't about to start properly for another five minutes or so.

"Have you heard of the Hippocratic oath?" Dax started

"I can't say I have."

"It's an oath made by doctors. Since even before the dark days. Our number one priority. Do no harm."

"I see." Nautilus said, and se actually did, "That puts you in a bit of a bind doesn't it? Since you don't get to choose whether someone gets harmed, merely who. Most of these children won't last three days, Dr. Heavensbee. Only one of them is making it out alive. If you have to hurt someone, might as well be people who are already dead."

Dax's shoulders slumped in defeat and he placed the folder in Nautilus' open palm.

"You should come inside. Watch the sessions." Se said.

"I'm not particularly interested." The doctor replied, and turned around to leave.

"Are you sure? Horatio Wren is here."

That stopped Dax in his tracks. "Is it that obvious?" he asked.

"Only to me. Come in. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you, so to speak."

It was Dax's turn to sigh. "Why do I always end up doing exactly what you want me to?"

"I have a gift."

They both entered the Gamemaker's box, where a collection of gamemakers, state officials, and important capitolites had gathered to watch the tributes display their skills. Dax walked over to where Horatio was sitting with his brothers, white cane folded up neatly in his lap. Nautilus took ser own seat near the head gamemaker Allison Pryss, and watched silently as a small boy entered the stage.

**Diamond Stark, District One**

Since he was a career, Nautilus had expected Diamond to go straight to the weapons. But while he picked up a couple of darts after he bowed to the gamemakers, the boy then went straight to the edible plants section. He picked up a large oak leaf, then used that as a makeshift glove to start picking out a number of plants.

"Castor." he said loudly, holding up a plant so that the gamemakers could see, "Used to make Ricin, a powerful poison. However it requires time for processing and a chemical such as lye to break down the beans. Impractical for an arena."

He picked up the next plant, a dark glistening berry. "Nightlock. Powerful and fast acting. However Nightlock has not been in an arena since the 74th Hunger Games." He cast the nightlock aside as well.

He then picked up a branch of small white berries with a red center. "Wintersbane." He declared joyfully, "Grows in damp environments and occasionally snowbanks. Slow but potent, the toxin will start causing intense pain within six hours, and kill you within ten. Can be transmitted by imbibing, or through open wounds in the skin. This works best if the wound is near a vein or artery, such as the arms or neck."

He placed the berries on a nearby table, and quickly but carefully smashed them into a thick paste with a rock he found by the water purifying station. He dipped three of the darts into the paste, then without warning threw them one after another at a target dummy across the room. One dart hit each arm, while the other poked out of the dummy's neck.

Diamond bowed. "Thank you very much for your consideration."

**Titania Topaz, District One**

The girl from One was in many ways the polar opposite of her district partner. She sauntered in, casual and confident, taking off her jacket and slinging it over her shoulder as she introduced herself. She had a showmanship about her, as if the world was a symphony and she was the conductor.

She went straight to the weapons station, running her hand along the rack until she stopped at a bundle of Javelins. Grabbing a few, she walked to the center of the room and threw them at the target dummies. One missed, but the others were rather solid hits.

She returned to the weapons rack and got something else: a glaive. The curved blade glinted slightly in the light and she gestured for a peacekeeper to spar with her. He pulled out his sword and complied.

The girl was light on her feet, and the peacekeeper was clearly unaccustomed to fighting against polearms. Titania made the most of that fact, keeping the man at range as she expertly jabbed towards vulnerable spots in the armor. She always pulled back at the last minute, clearly aware that if she followed through with her carefully placed blow it would rip through the peacekeeper's outfit and cause actual damage. She did land several blows, though they were all aimed at the center of the chest where the armor was strongest.

As Titania's time began to run out, she swung the glaive in a wide arc, causing the peacekeeper to lose his footing just slightly. She used that opportunity to rush forward, bashing him in the chest with the blunt edge of her glaive. That knocked him over completely, and she angled her blade to rest right next to his neck.

Titania grinned, then withdrew the glaive with a flourish and bowed to the gamemakers.

**Dash Grester, District Two**

Dash did not waste any time trying to build a rapport with the gamemakers watching him. He strode with purpose towards the center of the room, introduced himself, then immediately went to the weapons rack and pulled out a sword. He dragged a dummy to the center of the room, then began to hit it with a series of fast strikes.

"Impressive." Nautilus heard the head gamemaker whisper.

"I haven't seen too many of these." se said, "Could you explain what is going on?"

"That is an advanced sword sequence they teach in District Two." Allison explained, "But he's doing it at about twice the traditional speed. And his form is still perfect."

"Ah. That is impressive."

The boy finished his sequence with a vicious kick to the dummy's sternum. It went flying and hit the wall. The impact mixed with the various cuts the item had withstood during Dash's sequence was too much for it, and the dummy collapsed into pieces.

Dash pointed to one of the peacekeepers in an obvious sparring challenge, clearly wasting no time. The moment the man unsheathed his sword, the tribute was on him with swift upward strikes. In a matter of moments, the peacekeeper was on the ground. The tribute went back to the center of the room and bowed.

Allison pressed the intercom button near her chair. "Are you sure you're finished?" she asked, "You still have a few minutes left."

"Do you really need to see any more?" Dash said.

Nautilus didn't think they did.

**Zella Waneta, District Two**

It looked like District Two was full of impatient types. Zella came out much like Dash did, quickly and with purpose. She introduced herself quickly then immediately barked at three different peacekeepers to spar with her.

The peacekeepers were difficult to hear through their helmets, but Nautilus felt like se heard one of them ask if Zella wanted to get a weapon first.

"Not yet." she said, "Let's see what you've got."

The three peacekeepers approached slowly, surrounding the girl. She somersaulted between two of them, and landed a precision blow to one of their backs. The peacekeeper yelped in pain and stumbled back a bit, allowing the others to once again try and close in on the tribute.

Zella sparred with all three of them competently hand to hand, but they did seem to be gaining ground on her. However it seemed like she had planned on this. When she had been backed up against the weapons rack she drew a sword and slashed out at her attackers. All of the peacekeepers managed to dodge in time, if only barely. They all started to draw their swords.

This time, Zella was the one who was pushing the peacekeepers back. She used their own numbers against them, causing their blades to ricochet against each other and taking advantage of her own maneuverability. When she had pushed them towards the side of the room that had the ranged weapons, Zella grabbed a bow and stepped back.

"Thank you Miss Waneta. That will be all." Head Gamemaker Pryss said over the intercom.

"But I'm not done!"

"Unfortunately you've run out of time."

"Then take some from some outer district sap. It's not like they're going to use it." Zella Complained.

"Please leave, Miss Waneta. Before we are forced to make you leave."

"Fine." She muttered, then flipped off the gamemaker's box and left.

**Ashlar Granodum, District Three**

There was not a lot of noise in the gamemaker's box, but what little there was ceased when the boy from Three entered the room. Nautilus was a bit curious serself, since the idea of a career from the technology district was still fairly new. It was not completely novel, but it appeared that it was still enough of a rarity to make the gamemakers excited.

Ashlar did not come forward with the brash certainty of the Twos, or the swagger of Titania. Instead he was quiet, focused. When he introduced himself it was barely a whisper, and he seemed far more interested in what came after.

Like most of the other careers, the boy went straight to the weapons rack. He picked a spear and tossed it between his hands to test the weight. He stood there for a moment, clearly pondering his next move when he turned around and dashed towards the obstacle course.

The obstacle course was meant to be doable but difficult. While a career would probably not have much problems with it, an outer district tribute would most likely struggle to finish. But that was only taking into account a straightforward run with both hands free. Ashlar completed the course with his spear in hand. When he jumped between staggered platforms he fended off attacks from imaginary projectiles. When climbing he stopped halfway up to dangle from one arm and stab a couple times both upwards and downwards. At the final obstacle, the zipline, Ashlar jumped and landed with a roll. He then immediately went into a combat combination.

Ashlar's moves were agile, but wasted little movement. He was focused and precise, caring far more about accuracy then entertainment. When he was finished, he put the spear away neatly, then bowed and left much the same way he had come.

**Elixane Marcus, District Three**

In a sharp contrast to almost everyone that Nautilus had seen so far, Elixane did not appear to be in a rush to show the gamemakers anything. She introduced herself confidently, then began to walk around the room with a sly smile. There was an arrogance to her slowness. It was clear that she believed she didn't need to worry about the time limit. Whatever she showed them would be impressive. She ran her hands across the weapons rack like a child might run a stick across a fence, eventually settling on a long nimble blade. Then she walked around the room in a lazy circle, looking around the various stations.

She stopped at the fishing station, which among knots and hooks had a few small fish that were supposed to be used for bait. "You know what?" she said gleefully, "I'm going to show you my favorite party trick."

Elixane's pace quickened slightly, though she still didn't seem particularly rushed. She brought a table to the center of the room and filled it with a few ingredients from the edible plants and fishing stations. Finally, she took off her jacket and sliced off a long piece of cloth, which she then tied around her eyes. She had a peacekeeper verify she couldn't see then had him lead her to the central table.

Light glinted off of the girl's blade as she began to swing her sword completely blindfolded. Her moves were quick and forceful, with several vegetable ends and pieces of fish guts splattering all around her.

Elixane didn't seem to mind, and continued slicing and placing ingredients with her sword. She spun the sword around in one last flourish before sheathing it and taking off the blindfold.

"Bon appetit." She said, waving her hands to present five slightly messy but fairly serviceable sushi rolls, "Although maybe don't actually eat it. I don't know how long these fish have been there."

With her remaining time, she challenged a peacekeeper to spar with her. However, she spent so long toying with the man that her time ran out before she landed any hits. Head Gamemaker Pryss dismissed her, and Elixane curtseyed before leaving without another word.

**Seaward Waters, District Four**

"Ladies. Gentleman. Gamemakers of all ages. I now present to you for your viewing entertainment, Seaward Waters and his absolutely amazing aim!" Seaward thrust his arms into the air and made a sound meant to mimic a crowd cheering. He bowed to the gamemaker's box, then to the peacekeepers, then somewhere off to his right for a reason Nautilus couldn't quite grasp before heading off to the firing range.

"I don't _bow_ about you, but how about we start with a classic?" Seaward said, then grabbed a longbow and quiver. He stepped up to the firing range and fired five arrows in quick succession, hitting close to each other in the center of the target.

"Ah yes, I know what you're thinking. Impressive but basic. So how about we try something a little different?" Seaward walked back to the weapons where he grabbed a bag that held a dissassembled crossbow. He quickly put it together, loaded a bolt, and shot at the target a couple of times. The shots were equally as accurate as the traditional arrows.

"Well sure Seaward, that's all very well and good. But what if you can't find a bow? What will you do then? Will you be doomed?" He asked, throwing out his arms and hamming it up for the audience.

He grabbed some rocks from the water purifying station, found a simple slingshot, then after a brief consideration of targets used it to break three glass bottles near the first aid station.

"How spectacular! How magnificent! How… Seaward!" The boy crowed. He made the noise of a cheering crowd once again then left without being prompted, arms pumping in victory.

**Cordelia Corver, District Four **

The private session for the girl from Four was slightly delayed, as the mess from both Elixane and Seaward had to be cleaned up. Even with a delay, not everything had been picked up and as Cordelia entered she stopped to look at a bloody puddle left from the fish guts. She seemed more curious than disturbed, and continued to the center of the room after only a few seconds.

She introduced herself with a rather charming smile then headed towards the weapons rack.

"This year three of us careers use spears or some similar weapon." She said to the box amiably. There was an easy friendliness to her demeanor, and something magnetic about the rhythm of her words, "But I'm the only one who uses a trident. So I think it's best for everyone if I use that."

She took a trident off of the rack then turned to the peacekeepers.

"Could three of you please spar against me?" she asked, walking to the center of the room. Her demeanor was still friendly but there was a focus to her. The peacekeepers agreed and within a few moments three of them started to spar her.

Cordelia was not quite as fast as some of the other careers, but she clearly knew her weapon well. Through a complicated series of spins and flourishes she kept them all at a distance, using the reach of the trident to her advantage. The angles of her weapon were almost like a dance, intricate and clearly well practiced.

"Don't get me wrong, all of this is impressive." Nautilus said, "But does it bother you that three trained peacekeepers are being defeated by teenagers? Are we sending our best talent to most likely die?"

The head gamemaker chuckled, "Don't get me wrong, these kids are incredibly talented." She said, "But these peacekeepers know that their chief purpose is to make the tribute look good."

This knowledge didn't stop Nautilus being impressed with the girl from four. The peacekeepers had started to stay more or less out of her reach, only darting in when they suspected a blindspot. So Cordelia changed the grip on her trident and began to spin. This extend her range by a foot or so, and all of the peacekeepers were knocked onto the ground.

"Thank you very much." Cordelia said, waving to the box before being dismissed.

**Demetri Donovan, District Five**

"Hello. I'm Demetri Donovan, from District Five. It's nice to meet you. Well, not exactly nice given the circumstances. Oh god is that rude? That's probably rude. I'm sorry."

Nautilus and Allison exchanged a look as the tribute from five rambled on. He did eventually stop himself then walked over to the snares station.

"I learned a lot at the training center. Which was probably the point. But there was a lot of information there about all sorts of things. I learned how to purify water and identify poisonous plants, and even a little bit of first aid. But I thought that I'd show you what I spent the most time on." Demetri said. As he talked, he worked with his were strong and steady, deftly using a knife to whittle some branches into a desired shape, and connecting the pieces together with strong, tight knots.

"This is meant to trap rabbits and other small prey animals for food. While hunting isn't something a lot of tributes do, it is a much safer way to eat than gathering. Mammals are very rarely poisonous. Though I learned how to identify that too."

The boy placed his trap down and started gathering other materials. Nautilus saw a piece of wire and a couple other mechanical contraptions as well as some sticks that he had whittled down to sharp points.

"However, I'm trying to impress you all right now, and I know that you don't really care about the survival part of the Hunger Games. I'm not really a combat person, but last year showed that you don't have to be in order to win. You just have to know how to make good traps."

As Demetri finished, he brought two wires together. Suddenly the sticks were rapidly launched towards the firing range. A few of them hit the targets with such force that they stuck like arrows.

"So… thank you for listening I guess. I hope you found that sufficient."

**Tesla Nichols, District Five**

So far, all of the tributes had been prepared and competent. Demetri had clearly been nervous judging by the way he had rambled. But he had made his traps quickly and with focus. Tesla Nichols was the first tribute who looked completely terrified. It did make sense, being part of the first non career district and only thirteen years old.

She stuttered as she introduced herself, her eyes darting around nervously. Even after she finished her eyes continued to move, although she didn't. She stayed in the center, her breath starting to become quick and shaky.

It took her about a minute to break out of her panic and dart towards the edible plants station. She spent some time identifying what was safe to eat.

"Are those right?" Nautilus asked the head gamemaker..

"All but one. And I suspect that she only got that wrong because of nerves. Still, nerves are a terrible problem to have in this situation.

After she had finished identifying plants, Tesla scurried to the water purifying station. She explained the different methods of making sure water was clean, and placed some in a pot to boil. She gathered wood from one of the other stations and with shaking hands tried to make a fire.

Unfortunately her hands weren't quite steady enough, and while she managed to cause a few sparks, she could not start a proper fire. Tesla started to sob, and stayed there until a peacekeeper whispered something to her softly and she followed him out of the room.

**Raleigh West, District Six**

When the boy from six first began to introduce himself, Nautilus thought that he was being rude. He seemed to be rolling his eyes quite a lot, which the director of sponsorships usually linked to teenage irritation. However when se looked at the file on Raleigh that Dax had provided, se realized that he had Tourette's syndrome. One of his tics was eye rolling, and stress was something that could make it happen more commonly.

Raleigh was clearly quite stressed. On top of the eye rolling and the fact that he cleared his throat several times throughout his introduction, his hands were visibly shaking. When he walked towards the firing range his steps were slow and uncertain. The boy grabbed one of the pre assembled crossbows and loaded a bolt. His hands were still shaking though, and while he hit the target it was only the edge.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again they seemed more focused. He loaded and shot four more bolts from the crossbow. Every single one of them hit the center of the target.

"Thank you." The boy said.

"You still have a few minutes left. Would you like to show anything else?" the headgamemaker asked.

Raleigh looked surprised at the question. He clearly had only planned on showing off his aim. He hadn't prepared anything else. Still, the tribute nodded and went to the camouflage station. He mashed some mud and berries together to form a dark red concoction that resembled blood, and tore some leaves into narrow strips. He began to apply the materials on his neck until he ended up with a rather realistic looking wound. It made him look more injured than he really was.

He thanked the gamemakers again and actually left this time.

**Astra Porter, District Six**

Astra was considerably calmer then her district partner, almost seeming as certain as the careers. She bowed when she introduced herself, then headed directly to the weapons rack. There she picked up two small daggers.

However, she did not ask any peacekeepers to spar with her. Instead she went to a dummy and started to strike it. Her movements were quick but light, causing many shallow gashes in the training dummy. She did this for quite some time, not seeming to tire but not doing all that much damage either. After about half her time had passed, Astra appeared to realize that she would probably need to show the gamemakers more.

She backed up until she was about six feet away, then threw both daggers one after the other. They both hit, but one was too weak to stick and bounced off of the dummy to clang onto the floor.

She looked back over at the weapons rack, as if trying to find another weapon. She stared at the crossbow for a few seconds before shaking her head and heading to the water purification station. She successfully purified some water with an iodine tablet, drinking some of it as proof. Nautilus thought that an iodine tablet didn't take much skill at all, but supposed it did show some knowledge.

Astra thanked the gamemakers and left, quietly and without much of a fuss. It was unremarkable, rather like her session.

"Sometimes I think we should switch the order up a little." Allison said to Nautilus, "There are usually a few surprises, but generally the talent is rather front loaded."

"It's hard to believe we're only halfway done." Nautilus replied.

"Indeed. They can be a rather draining experience." She answered, then placed her hand once again on the intercom button.

"Please don't bring in the next tribute. We're going to take a short break."

**AN: This chapter was a bit of a doozy to write. I do have ideas on the other private sessions and don't imagine that they'll take much longer, but I figured that it was best to split this into two because even if the sessions are short they can really add up. I would really appreciate it if you reviewed, especially since after taking a bit of a break a few chapters ago I don't know if I lost anyone. If you don't want to review it's cool to PM me that you're still reading. Mostly I'm just curious. **

**Also! I suspect that some of my words are being eaten in between chapter transfers. I'm going to try and fix it from now on so we'll see how that goes. Anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy!**


	22. Highs and Lows: Private Sessions Finish

Most of the people in the Gamemaker's box had stopped paying attention. This was rather normal. Allison Pryss had seen her fair share of private sessions, and had noticed that after about the halfway mark most of the gamemakers and sponsors began to get weary and lose interest. Most of the time they would turn to each other or the various refreshments provided.

However, Allison took her job seriously and part of her job was to provide an accurate assessment of the tribute's skills. It was why she had started putting in breaks, so that she could keep her mind sharp and avoid the temptation of losing focus. She would watch every single tribute, and grade them the best that she could.

At least this year she had the company of someone who seemed to take this as seriously as she did. Nautilus Plume sat quietly next her, occasionally asking questions or consulting the notes se held in ser hands. It was a small thing, but one that Allison appreciated.

The doors to the private session room opened, and Allison turned her attention to the boy that entered from them.

**Tanner Kelly, District Seven**

The boy from Seven didn't introduce himself.

Instead he went straight towards a pile of survival supplies and tied a sharp rock to a stick, creating a makeshift hand axe. He then went over to a peacekeeper and asked to spar.

The peacekeeper wasted no time. Almost as soon as Tanner had asked, the man threw a punch. The tribute stumbled back in surprise, which allowed the peacekeeper to draw his sword. The older man swung, and Tanner was able to successfully block two strikes before he was knocked to the ground.

"I thought you said the peacekeepers knew how to make the tributes look good." Nautilus said.

"Well." Allison answered, "They make the careers look good. But they tend to go all out for any outer district who dares to spar them. 'Show them their place' or something. There's a reason most non careers stick to dummies."

The peacekeeper swung at the prone tribute's head and the head gamemaker was concerned that at this rate the boy from seven might have to take a trip to the medical wing before the Hunger Games even started. The boy blocked his face with his arms, gaining a large slash but avoiding anything major.

Allison's finger pressed the intercom. "That's enough, Peacekeeper Dalton. Mr. Kelly, you may go now."

"Wait." Tanner said, "I'm not finished."

"You should take the out boy." Peacekeeper Dalton said.

Tanner ignored him and went to retrieve his hand axe. The peacekeeper once again gave him no room to react and charged after him. What little reservations the man had were clearly gone.

Tanner parried the blows, wearing the peacekeeper out while he looked for an opening. Suddenly, he knocked Dalton's sword out of his hand, then dropped his own hatchet before knocking the peacekeeper down to the ground. They wrestled on the floor for a moment, before Tanner finally got the upper hand and flung him across the room.

The tribute stood, breathing heavily, then noticed the peacekeeper barrelling towards him with hate in his eyes. "Thank you. That's all I wanted to show you." Tanner said. One of the other peacekeepers held Dalton back. The boy from Seven started to leave before stopping and running back to the center of the room.

"And I forgot. Tanner Kelly. District Seven."

**Serena May Lenovius, District Seven**

After Tanner's session, most of the people in the gamemaker's box were talking excitedly to themselves. Allison herself managed to get caught up in a conversation with one of the Wrens and didn't actually catch when exactly the female tribute from seven had come in.

She stood in the center of the room, quietly waiting for the activity in the box to settle down. When most of the eyes were on her she tapped a few buttons on the digital pad she was holding.

"Serena May Lenovius, District Seven." The pad said. She placed it on a table to the side, then smiled and waved at one of the peacekeepers that were in the room with her. The peacekeeper waved back, and Allison could actually feel the heat of the glare peacekeeper Dalton gave him.

The girl went to the shelter making station, and quickly began to make a quick lean to made up mostly of reeds and grasses. She then briefly stopped by the weapons rack to pick up a quarterstaff. She swung at the lean to and it collapsed to the ground.

Serena May continued without any hesitation and started to make another shelter. This was more of a tent like structure, made with sticks as a base and covered with a waterproof tarp. She swung with the quarterstaff again and it held. However she adjusted her grip and lunged rather than swung. After a few strikes the tent collapsed as well.

At this point the girl was running out of time and but the way her movements had sped up Allison realized that she had taken more time than she had intended. Serena May found a pile of rocks that were usually used for fire pits or thrown to demonstrate strength and began to stack them in a complicated pattern. When she finished she had a messy but standing stone hut. Allison assumed that the poor craftsmanship was only because of the time restrictions.

For the third time the girl from seven attacked her structure. But no many how many blows it took at whatever angle, the hut held firm.

"That reminds me of a pre dark days folk story." Nautilus said, "The three little pigs."

"Do you think it was on purpose?" Allison asked.

"Difficult to say."

Serena May picked up her speaking tablet, bowed, then walked out with the peacekeeper that she had waved to.

**Lucien Narciso, District Eight**

Allison hadn't thought it was possible, but Lucien Narciso was even more attractive in person. He was far too young for her to have any serious attraction to him, but even so there was something about him that was simply enjoyable to look at.

The boy was clearly aware of this and every one of his movements were clearly thought out to bring attention to his looks. He gave a grand, overdramatic bow, complete with a flourish from his hands. When he drew up, his posture was perfect, showing off his long lithe frame.

"I am Lucien Narciso, and am incredibly pleased to make your acquaintance." he said, then gracefully walked towards the survival stations. He gathered up a few various items, such as a pitcher full of water and some tubs of paint.

He placed one of the paint jars on his right foot, which he extended out in front of him. He placed the water jug on his head and held two other objects on his outstretched palms.

He stood on one leg, limbs all spread out in various positions, for the entire time allowed him.

"Thank you very much Mr. Narcisco." Allison said eventually. Lucien lowered his foot and set the objects on a nearby table before bowing again. He flashed a dazzling smile then left.

Allison frowned slightly. It was impressive, for certain. But she wasn't sure how relevant it was to the games.

**Arachne Weber, District Eight**

The young girl looked so scared that Allison feared she might fall over. Which she actually almost did when she stepped forward during her introduction and tripped over her own feet. She was soft spoken, so much so that the people in the box only knew she was speaking at all because her lips were moving. Thankfully, after her introduction she didn't seem to want to say anything else.

The small girl went to the knots section and gathered up a large amount of rope. She then sat in the center of the room and began to move them around. Her hands were quick and precise, but Allison couldn't quite tell what was going on.

"Does anyone know what she's doing?" The head gamemaker asked aloud.

"She's weaving." Nautilus answered, "Though at this point it's hard to say what."

Watching a girl weave was not the most riveting thing Allison had ever seen at a private session, though after a while she began to be calmed by the repetitive motions. When Arachne's time was almost up, she stood and presented what she had been working on.

It was a net.

The girl's mouth began moving again, but once again whatever she said was lost. Allison had to press the intercom button and prompt her to speak louder.

Arachne did as obliged, but it was still very soft and the head gamemaker could only hear a few snippets of her explanation.

"Fishing….rivers...if I have to...tributes."

"Thank you very much Miss Weber. You may go now."

**Rust Waxy, District Nine**

Like the girl before him, Rust was quiet. However the feeling around him was entirely different. He didn't seem nervous. It was difficult to tell if he had any feelings at all. The only thing Allison could sense from him was an impression of sad resignation. It was an offputting silence, one that made her and other people in the box mildly uncomfortable.

He didn't introduce himself, merely constructed a fire pit and lit himself a fire with a piece of flint and steel. It took him several tries, but the fire did eventually roar to life. He then went to both the edible plants and edible insects and picked a couple options of both of them. Allison noted that he did seem to know what he was doing, choosing only edible items.

He grabbed a bowl from one of the other stations and began to heat the items. Allison could feel Nautilus squirm next to her. She assumed it was because of the bugs. The concept of eating them didn't sit well with everyone.

Her suspicion was confirmed when Rust actually ate the concoction after heating it, and Nautilus gagged.

"They're a rather good source of protein." Allison said.

"Doesn't matter. It's disgusting." Se replied.

Rust still hadn't spoken a word. He also clearly wasn't bothered by the concept of eating bugs. He ate absolutely everything that he had cooked, and Allison heard other people in the box react with disgust as well. Since none of them had intercoms, the boy couldn't hear them. Though Allison suspected that even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.

He put out his fire, cleaned up the stations he had used, and walked out in silence.

**Nettie Sue Monroe, District Nine**

"You're already judging me aren't you?" The girl from Nine said almost as soon as she entered the room. Allison had to admit that she welcomed it a little after the eerie silence of her district partner.

"Well. My name's Nettie Sue. Although you already know that. What's the point of introducing myself?" She continued.

"Actually, what is the point?" Nautilus asked.

"Honestly it's just a formality. Although I find them useful. You can tell a lot about a person by how they introduce themselves.

Allison turned her eyes back to Nettie Sue, who was stretching. It was strange how little she saw that. The head gamemaker hoped that most of the tributes just did it while they were waiting, but feared that most of them just went in cold.

"So are you ready to see what a fat girl can do?" she challenged, and ran towards the obstacle course.

Nettie Sue's run was not particularly pretty to watch. She was not a particularly graceful person and she had no interest in showmanship. But her obstacle course was notable for the sheer strength that she put into it. Whether it was jumping across platforms or climbing up walls, she faced each obstacle with a straightforward resolve.

She finished in good time and looked barely winded, walking over to the weapons rack and picking out a bow. She shot off four arrows. Some of them settled on the outer ring but all of them hit the target.

"So. Was I entertaining enough?" she asked after she had shot the fourth one, then dropped the bow and walked off without being dismissed.

**Ruben Ashven, District Ten**

There was always a brief pause before the doors opened and the next tribute came in. Ot was to make sure the stations were relatively in working order and gave the gamemakers some time to process or take notes before moving on to the next session. During the pause, the tribute would wait in the hallway for a brief moment.

By the way that the shadows moved rapidly under the door, Allison could tell that Ruben Ashven was pacing. The door opened and he practically ran to the center of the room.

The boy was confident, but not the same confidence as the careers displayed. Those in the inner districts were trained and prepared, they didn't need to worry about getting a high score. The boy from ten was nervous, Allison could tell from a subtle but constant tapping of his foot. However, he was not going to let that show to anyone but the keenest observer.

It was a snowman's confidence. The tribute had clearly worked in front of crowds before. Ruben went to the knots station and quickly tied a circle onto the edge of a rope, creating a lasso. He started to swing it, then pretended to dodge an imaginary enemy. He was quick and had good body awareness, but it was hard to tell just how effective it would be against a real person.

He jumped through the hole of his lasso a few times, then launched it at a nearby dummy. He neatly caught it in the center and with a tug brought it towards him. He then made a final blow in the dummy's neck with a knife.

Allison was not sure when he had gotten it.

**Carlotta Pierce, District Ten**

Carlotta's confidence was quieter than Ruben's, and a great deal more subtle. There was a a sneakiness to it, a sort of false shyness and mock humility.

"I'm Carlotta Pierce, District Ten. Thank you very much for assessing me. I'll try not to waste your time."

She went to the weapons rack and grabbed a rather large cleaver. Then she walked towards one of the dummies. However instead of attacking it, she lifted it up and placed it on it's back on a nearby table.

"As you all know, district ten is known for livestock. So I thought I would talk to you about different cuts of meat."

With a sudden, vicious swing Carlotta raised her cleaver and chopped off the dummy's head.

"The head can be eaten but is tough and therefore in this case we can ignore it. However right below that is the chuck."

Her cleaver came down again, precisely tearing off part of the dummy. She continued in that manner in swift and experienced cuts, labeling each part until the dummy lay in parts before her.

"I know it's not that impressive, but I'm sure I could put it to use in the arena." She said.

For a moment her innocent facade dropped and her smile was one of uncontrolled, malicious glee. But then she bowed and left as if nothing had happened at all.

**Issa William's, District Eleven**

After the last two unconventional sessions, Allison was strangely comforted by a typical tribute like Issa. He was nervous but cordial, introducing himself without any unnecessary dramatics.

With only a brief moment of hesitation, he began to take on the obstacle course. He was quick,agile, and made almost no noise. But he did struggle on the strength portions. A standard run for an outer district tribute.

He then went to the camoflauge station, where he managed to mask his skin in a series of greens and browns that would make him difficult to see in a jungle environment.

Finally he mixed up some mud and berries to create a dark red substance, and using some leaves for texture made a rather convincing looking wound on his shoulder.

"Didn't the boy from six do that?" Nautilus asked.

"He did." Allison answered. Duplicate sessions happened on occasion, there were only so many things a tribute could do. Most likely they had thought of the technique together and hadn't realized it would benefit them to have only one show it to the gamemakers.

Issa was unaware of the conversation in the box. So he merely cleaned off his camouflage, then thanked everyone in the gamemaker box and left.

**Violet Beckinridge, District Eleven**

The girl from Eleven was more physically impressive than many of the tributes Allison had seen that day. It seemed that most of them were small and lithe, depending on speed and agility. It made sense for the outer districts to be small due to malnutrition, but even the careers had taken a more precise, technical approach to the private sessions.

In contrast, Violet was solid. She was a large girl with broad shoulders and bright ginger curly hair that was currently gathered in a poof at the top of her head. She introduced herself with a steady seriousness and went to the archery range. She fired four arrows, all close together but a little left of the center of the target. She then asked one of the peacekeepers to spar with her.

Dalton stepped forward but another peackeeper placed a hand on his arm. They talked to each other in low whispers before turning back to Violet.

"I'm sorry, but we're not doing any more sparring sessions today." One of the peacekeepers said.

The girl was clearly outraged, but attempted to keep herself calm. "How am I supposed to show off my skills without such an integral option?"

"You could try the dummies." One offered.

"It's not the same and you know it."

"Take it up with the boy from Seven." Dalton sneered. Violet seemed about to object, but seemed to think better of it and backed off. She grabbed a machete, and hacked violently at the last dummy they had. She was not a fighter who concerned herself with how she looked, preferring brutal efficiency over form. When she finished the dummy lay in pieces at her feet.

"Do the dummies always get this ripped up?" Nautilus asked.

"Depends on the year."

Violet thanked the gamemakes, and even thanked the peacekeepers despite clearly still being mad at them, before leaving the room.

**Mattock Coccia, District Twelve**

Allison Pryss took her job very seriously. But even she was beginning to feel the strain of assessing twenty four teenagers. The boy from Twelve came in and introduced himself, and she found herself trying desperately not to fall asleep.

Unfortunately, Mattock's performance didn't help her very much with this task. He didn't go to the weapon's rack at first. In fact he didn't go to any station. Instead, he stretched for a brief moment and began to run around the room.

He was fairly fast for a boy his age, and given the amount of laps he did the tribute clearly had high endurance. But Allison couldn't say that watching someone run around a room was a particularly riveting experience.

Thankfully he did not decide to spend his entire time running. He did eventually pick out a weapon: A sturdy pickaxe. Mattock went up to one of the remaining dummies (there were not a lot of them left) and began to attack it with strong, heavy strokes.

The boy was clearly a coal miner. While a fast runner, his fighting style was slightly stiff and lacking in speed. However it was strong and thorough, with a solid form and a seeming inability to tire.

Unlike the gamemakers.

Mattock seemed to pick up on the attitude of the people judging him and stepped a few feet away from his dummy. He then threw the pickaxe, which sailed through the air with astonishing speed.

It missed the dummy, clattering into the weapons rack. The entire thing fell down with a great crash.

"Thank you for your time." Mattock said quickly and fearfully, clearly afraid of punishment for his mistake. He disappeared back through the door before anything else could be said.

**Anthracite Amber Weitz, District Twelve**

"So. Do you come here often?" the girl from Twelve joked.

Given the strong force field and pane of glass lining the Gamemaker's box, tributes were unable to hear anything that happened within it. However, Allison was pretty sure that the girl would be able to tell from the look on their faces that no one was laughing.

"Oh god that was so bad. I'm so sorry. I'm Anthracite Amber Weitz, from District Twelve. Please don't give me a one for a bad joke."

That earned a chuckle from Allison, though it was small and quiet so the girl was probably unable to pick it up.

She started with the obstacle course, running from the platforms with an ease that usually only came from the careers. The girl got a little cocky and at the end of the run tried to finish with a jump into a somersault. She misjudged how far away the landing mat was and ended up tripping halfway through, falling sideways.

She dusted herself off and went to the first aid center, where she bandaged her leg with a practiced accuracy.

"She's recovering from a broken leg" Nautilus said, "Probably has a lot of experience with bandages."

Anthracite switched stations for a final time and went to the firing range, where she grabbed some throwing daggers. She threw five of them, and one managed to hit the center.

She bowed to the gamemakers, and Allison noticed that she was breathing rather heavily.

"So… uh… goodbye." She said, and let a peacekeeper escort her out.

**AN: So here we are, the rest of the training sessions! It took some time and effort, but I really did enjoy coming up with what everyone did. We are super close to the games now, with only four more chapters to go. Next chapter the training scores will be released, though I'd love to hear your thoughts before that. Anyway, thank you very much for reading my story. I love you all.**


	23. Cause and Effect: The Scores Revealed

**Tesla Nichols, District Five**

"Now remember not to take all of this too seriously." Magnus said, "Engle. How about you tell them what score you got?"

Tesla was laying on the couch, curled up next to Magnus as he stroked her hair. It wasn't the same as being near her parents, but Magnus was someone she knew. Every year he came to District Five for the reaping, and this put him in close contact with Tesla's father. It was nice to have someone familiar on this strange and frightening situation she found herself in.

Engle Harrison, victor of the 89th Hunger games and Demetri's mentor, smiled grimly. "I got a two." He answered, "a lot of things happen in the arena. Scores can help but they aren't the only thing that matters."

That did comfort Tesla a bit. She knew that she was going to get a low score, though she wasn't sure how low. She had panicked, and it had led to a disappointing session. She knew that she didn't have as many advantages as other people who were older or from different backgrounds. But it felt a little disappointing that she hadn't been able to show the gamemakers anything of worth. She did have advantages, even if there weren't many of them. But she hadn't managed to get out of her own head long enough to prove that.

At the same time, she wondered if she would panic during the hunger games. Could she really do any better when her life was on the line?

The TV adjusted the volume on it's own and the Panem national anthem blared as Kallia Haversham appeared, smiling at the audience. Her silver eyes glinted as she held up an envelope.

"The moment you've been waiting for is here everyone! I hold in my hand the scores for the tribute's final gamemaker sessions. You've seen them all in the parade, but now we get to find out what our fine Hunger Games staff thinks of this year's batch."

She opened the envelope and Tesla covered her eyes. Unfortunately she could still hear.

"Diamond Stark, eight. Titania Topaz, ten. Dash Grester, ten. Zella Waneta, eight. Ashlar Granodum, eleven."

Tesla was rather surprised. She had seen the tributes from Three, and they had clearly trained. But she hadn't expected either of them to get an eleven. In fact she had highly suspected Titania would get the highest score.

"Elixane Marcus, ten."

There were some gasps around the room and Tesla opened her eyes for a brief second. Marcus seemed shocked. While her mentor Ithaca merely sat there with a small smile.

"Impressive." She said.

Kallia Haversham continued on. "Seaward Waters, nine. Cordelia Corver, ten."

That meant district Five was up next. Tesla closed her eyes again.

"Demetri Donovan, six."

"Good job Demetri." Engle said. Demetri looked down in embarrassment but Tesla could tell he was smiling.

"Tesla Nichols, one."

She started to cry. Marcus took her into his arms, trying to comfort her. Trying to remind her of Engle. But Engle had gotten a two at least. It wasn't the lowest score possible.

She was so sick of crying.

**Tanner Kelly, District Seven**

"Raleigh West, six. Astra Porter, five." Kallia said, and Tanner felt the knots in his stomach tighten. He hadn't realized just how stressful it would be waiting for these scores. There was no way to know what the other tributes had done. So there was no way to try and guess his own score.

He had the feeling that his wouldn't be particularly good. He had forgotten to introduce himself and spent about half of his sparring session on the ground. But he had finished strong. About halfway through Tanner had realized how much bigger and better trained the peacekeeper was. It reminded him of his brother. One thing he had always excelled at was fighting when he was outclassed.

But for all he knew, the boy from Five had shot arrows while standing on his head and still only gotten a six. There was no way to know.

"Tanner Kelly." Kallia stopped and reread the list of scores. That made him nauseous. Whatever that meant, it probably wasn't good.

Except then Kallia grinned widely, as if she had won the Hunger Games herself. "Tanner Kelly, twelve."

For a moment Tanner felt like the world had stopped spinning and gravity had ceased to exist. He couldn't have heard her right, could he? Yet everyone around him seemed just as shocked. He could hear loud cheers from the studio audience coming out of the television.

"What did you do?" Their escort Callista asked.

"Honestly I mostly got my butt kicked." He said, "though I did throw the guy at the end. But I don't know how that earned me a twelve."

Callista stared at him, and Tanner didn't know how but somehow the woman looked even more shocked.

"Tanner Kelly you beautiful idiot, are you telling me you threw a peacekeeper?"

"Well. Yes." He said, "but careers do that all the time don't they?"

"Peacekeepers come from career districts." Callista explained, "they go half strength, maybe three quarters so that those tributes get better scores. But the last time an outer district sparred a peacekeeper he had to miss interviews while Dax fixed his shattered ribs. That was very dangerous. "

Tanner felt a sudden chill as he processed what his escort was saying. "How was I supposed to know?"

"Everyone knows."

"Do you really mean everyone or just everyone in the Capitol? "

Callista fell silent at that. Serena May however smiled at him, and gave the sign equivalent of applause to him.

"Serena May Lenovius, six." Kallia continued.

"Good job." Tanner said, "so what did you do?"

Serena May signed something, but he could only pick up the word for 'house'. So probably something to do with shelters. Tanner had spent enough time with her, writing to each other and attempting to learn sign language, to know how passionate the girl was about architecture. He had the feeling that if she had done something with buildings it had been quite impressive.

"Well, if Ruben gets over a five, I think we'll have a really good shot, sponsor wise."

Serena May nodded in agreement, and they turned back to the TV so they could discover Ruben's score.

"Lucien Narciso, Five. Arachne Weber, three."

**Lucien Narciso, District Eight**

Arachne screamed as the vase Lucien was holding hit the wall and shattered into countless tiny pieces. He did feel a little bad about scaring her. He hadn't really meant anything by it. He just wanted to do anything to keep the simmering rage from swallowing him whole.

"It's not fair!" he shouted, "I deserved so much better than a five."

A five. The Gamemakers had given him a five. Even though he had shown them just how dangerous he would be in the arena. Even though he had displayed his near perfect balance, his patience, his ability to move silently. They had dared to give him a five.

The only thing he could think of was that they didn't get it. He had thought they would, being Capitolites. But the more time went on, the more Lucien's adoration of the Capitol began to wane. It was not that the people he had talked to back in District Eight had been wrong, exactly. He had seen the beautiful buildings, the striking fashion, the glitz and the glamour. But there was something underneath it that was cold and cruel. Lucien was thoughtless sometimes, and his ambition could be self centered. But he didn't think he was particularly cruel. He had always thought that in the Capitol there would be people who understood him, but they were even more alien to him than those back in Eight.

Well, Lucien supposed that just meant that there truly was no one else in the world like him.

Arachne knelt down to pick up the pieces of the broken vase, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.

"You don't have to do that." He said, "It was my fault."

"It was." Arachne agreed, and Lucien was taken aback by it. The girl had always been so quiet. So shy. "You're being childish."

It was incredibly annoying to hear a thirteen year old tell him he was behaving like a child. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Arachne ignored him and placed the shards into one of her scarves as Kallia continued to read out the scores.

"Rust Waxy, four. Nettie Sue Monroe, four."

"Five is really good for a non career." Arachne said. She was quiet again, barely above a whisper. But Lucien had always had fairly good hearing, "Especially if you didn't fight. The Capitol loves you. A five is good enough to get lots of sponsors."

She walked over to the trash can, dumping the glass shards into it. Lucien looked at her scarf for a moment. It was well made, sturdy and beautiful. They had chosen not to ally with each other, but Lucien knew that her survival skills were better than his. Arachne was younger and smaller, but was more qualified than him to be in a death match. Yet she had scored a three. According to the Capitol, everything about this girl and her life meant almost nothing.

"Ruben Ashven, six. Carlotta Pierce, four."

"It's not fair." Lucien said once more, but this time it wasn't about his own injustice. The realization that everyone here was being treated just as callous as he was finally sunk in. The girl before him was so young, perhaps the age of the girls he had left an autograph with before he left. She didn't deserve to die. Yet here she was, resigned to it, picking up the remnants of Lucien's own rage.

"Issa Williams, three. Violet Beckingridge seven."

"No. It isn't." Arachne said, staring sadly at the television screen, "But in my experience life's not really fair."

"Mattock Coccia, four. Amber Weitz, five."

Lucien felt powerless, which was not something he was particularly used to. It reminded him of when he was a child, before he was beautiful. When no one ever took him seriously and would call him names behind his back. When his parents looked at him sadly, afraid that he was too useless to survive in Eight. His looks had saved him back then. Since the Capitol adored him, his looks could quite possibly save him now too.

But for some reason, that didn't give him the comfort it usually did. In fact it made him angry, because he realized that if he survived, twenty three other children with far more to offer would be dead.

If he survived, it wouldn't be fair.

**AN: I have nothing to say, just used to these I guess. We got our scores out! Hopefully people don't take these too personally. So we only have three more chapters until go time. Are you excited? I'm excited. Thank you so much for reading, everybody.**


	24. Dresses and Declarations: The Interviews

_Content Warning in Rust's section for sexual assault and violence._

**Cordelia Korver, District Four**

"Cordelia, if you don't get down from there very soon, you will miss your entrance." Her stylist Ronan said, "And I worked incredibly hard on it so I will be very very cranky."

If it had been anyone other than Ronan, Cordelia probably would have ignored him completely. She was on the upper catwalk of the interview stage, the area that lighting techs used during the show. Now that training had ended, there were not a large amount of things that she could do to challenge herself. So when she saw the series of suspended walkways, she knew that she needed to climb up there. And now that she had, someone was trying to get her down.

Still, it was Ronan, who had only done good things for her. So she figured he at least deserved an answer. "The show hasn't even started yet. Which means I have seven people before me. That's plenty of time." she called back at him.

"Normally, yes." He said, "But like I said I planned a special entrance. So you have to get ready… pretty much now."

She had to admit that sounded intriguing. Which was good, since Cordelia knew herself well enough to know that she was probably going to do what he said anyway. She had never been particularly good at standing up to people. At the Career Center, she had been trained in several weapons, and excelled all manner of combat. But the fight that was conversation had always been something that didn't quite make sense to her. It got her confused and flustered, and she either finished the discussion with violence or gave in completely.

Ronan was a Capitolite, so probably not particularly gifted at combat. But he was incredibly large, so she had mostly been doing exactly what he said. Thankfully he had been one of the more helpful people on her prep team.

She found a nearby ladder and instead of climbing it placed her hands and feet on the outside of the metal frame and slid down. "So what are we doing?" she asked.

"You'll see." He said, smiling like a madman and beckoning her to follow as he started to walk towards one end of backstage.

She followed him and ran into Titania in the process, who was flirting with one of the girls responsible for corralling the tributes as she waited for her entrance.

"Are you going to hit on Kallia Haversham herself?" Cordelia joked as she walked past.

"Of course I am. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity."

She finally caught up to Ronan, who was talking to a group of Capitolites dressed in plain black clothes, a surefire symbol that they were working tech.

"Could they all get their individual wires? I want it wooshy." Ronan said.

"Wooshy we can do."

"Excellent. Cordelia, come meet the most brilliant technical team ever."

"That's really not necessary, sir. But thank you."

"It's not necessary but it's true." Ronan continued, "So. You know how I've been making you do that weird thing where you're in a harness attached to wires and you have to stay upright?"

Cordelia nodded. It had been particularly strange, but it was something to do and ended up being a pretty good exercise for her balance and core muscles so it had turned out all right for her.

"Well this is what that was for. Your dress has a built in harness. We're going to hook you up to some wires, and you're going to float in for your interview."

"Float in?" Cordelia asked incredulously.

"Yes. Like an angel. It will be beautiful, just trust me."

Cordelia didn't really trust anyone, but the concept alone was interesting enough to get her to go along with it. The tech crew spent some time getting her set up, attaching the wires to her metallic green dress. The dress had several small trains, and each of those were rigged so that they would spread out like waves as she descended. The whole process took a while, so Ronan lent her his tablet so that she could see the interviews that came before her.

They were predictably solid. Careers were mostly trained in combat, but if One and Two were anything like her home district, they trained at least a little bit for the camera. Dash came off as honorable and serious, and Zella managed to make her aggressive personality seem like a likeable wild child archetype. Cordelia was rather impressed, though she wondered what the career dynamic would be like if she had been able to maintain that during training.

Elixane and Ashlar were very charming, and Cordelia was thankful that all of the careers had coordinated their angles beforehand, as her and Elixane could come off as pretty similar if they weren't careful. But the tribute from Three stuck with stories about her sister, with her cocky hotshot attitude being there but understated.

Cordelia was many things, but understated was not one of them. As Ashlar started his interview, the techs ushered her back up to the catwalk, where she waited on a high ledge for her cue. As he finished, she felt the wires grow taut and she stepped off of the ledge.

The few seconds where she didn't know whether she would fall or not were some of the most thrilling moments she had felt for a while. It reminded her of cliff diving, and how it almost felt like flying.

She heard the crowd gasp and applaud as she came into their view, and it made her bold. She was told that all she had to do was stay upright and look mysterious, but she had learned during her training how to do a front flip. She did one as she descended, and the crowd went wild. Cordelia did notice that it twisted up the fabric a bit though, so she imagined Ronan would be slightly upset with her.

She landed and shook hands with Kallia as some people on the stage removed the wires from her dress.

"How are you doing tonight Miss Korver?" the host asked.

"Oh wonderful." She said, "More than wonderful."

And she meant it.

**Rust Waxy, District Nine**

Rust didn't have a plan.

This was not an incredibly rare thing for him. He was not a particularly meticulous person, and had a habit of forming an odd idea at the beginning and adapting from there. However, as he stood behind the scenes watching Nettie Sue complete her interview, he didn't even have a vague direction to base his actions on. Back in District Nine, no one had been that interested in speaking with him. He had tried for a while, but his desperate need to be liked never overcame everyone's disdain for him. So eventually he gave up, and his social skills suffered for it.

His prep team, who he assumed were the people who usually helped with that sort of thing, had already given up on them. During training they had sort of pretended to care, giving an encouraging word on occasion or trying to find a way to motivate him. But once his score had come out, Rust instantly became uninteresting in their eyes. Just another walking corpse.

His outfit was proof of that, a simple black suit that was not particularly well tailored. It was definitely the worst outfit that he had seen so far. The girl from Five had seemed so vulnerable in her pink princess dress. It made everyone instinctively want to protect her. The Sixes had been placed in bold geometric designs, the girl in a black dress that had constellations on it to match her shaved head. And the pair from Eight had been put in matching silver and gold outfits that were so beautiful it almost caused Rust physical pain.

However, clothes were the least of his problems. Nettie Sue had been the only one to give him advice, and it had been something he hadn't wanted to hear.

"Tell them about your father," she had said at dinner the night before, "I'm going to talk about mine. And no one can compare to your story."

Rust didn't want to tell it. He didn't want to be the son of Flint Corna to all of Panem. He just wanted to be Rust Waxy. Unfortunately, he knew well enough how this sort of thing went. If he didn't give the Capitol something interesting about him, he would have no help in the Games. Then the only thing Rust Waxy would be was a name on a list of the dead.

Nettie Sue stormed off of the stage rather quickly. Rust hadn't been listening so he couldn't quite tell what had angered her so much. But he did find himself amused at how everyone on the stage seemed to scramble about, unsure of how to proceed.

"None of these assholes matter." she told him as she left the stage, "Sponsors or no sponsors, we'll figure it out. Just remember that you're a great kid Rust. They can't take that away from you." With that she knocked over a nearby tech and left the stage. One of the ushers recovered from the shock and prompted Rust to take the stage.

"And here is our next guest, Rust Waxy!" Kallia said, seamlessly adapting as if everything had been pre-planned. She was clearly a professional, with her gown made of crystals and her smile that never seemed to falter. Rust was intimidated by her, but he had no choice but to conduct this interview.

"Hello." he said.

Kallia smiled. Despite everything, he couldn't help but smile back. "She's a bit of a firecracker isn't she?" The woman said and gestured towards the direction Nettie Sue had run off.

"Yeah. She's always been like that." Rust said, "ever since I've known her at least "

"You two knew each other before?" She asked.

"Yeah. We went to school together for a bit, before she moved. I guess we were friends."

"You guess? You didn't know if you were friends or not?" The question seemed a little accusatory, but the way she worded it was gentle. Curious, not judging.

"Well honestly most of District Nine stays away from me. Nettie Sue is the only person who has ever even tried to be my friend."

There was a sad sigh from the audience, which was probably a good sign. But it was also distracting. He decided to focus back on Kallia.

"The entire district? Surely you must be exaggerating just a little."

"I'm really not." Rust took a deep breath. He knew now was the moment. But he didn't want to do it. "We're a small enough district that everyone knows who I am."

There was a tense silence which Kallia broke with her kind voice, "who are you Rust?"

"Fourteen or fifteen years ago, District Nine had a serial killer." There was a gasp from the audience, "Women had gone missing. Only a few had shown up, mutilated and showing signs of… of sexual assault. One day the killer broke into my mother's home. He attacked her. Before he took her away, her husband came home. He killed the man, who was eventually identified as Flint Corna."

There was another gasp. Rust wasn't surprised. He imagined that news probably travelled to the they had heard about how, after Rust's adoptive father Flake killed the man, peacekeepers tracked down where he was living. It was an abandoned warehouse. They found no less than twenty bodies there.

"Nine months later, I was born."

Rust didn't know why he did it, but for a moment he looked out at that audience. He had been expecting fear, disgust, or even pity. There was plenty of that. But many of the faces were smiling. They looked excited, almost hungry. Rust realized that for the first time people weren't afraid he was like his father. They were hoping for it.

The thought chilled him to the bone.

**Mattock Coccia, District Twelve**

Mattock had meant to pay attention to all of the interviews, if only to understand the angles all of the tributes were taking. However, Peeta had gotten into one of his bad moods, ranting wildly about mutts and murder. So he spent most of his time pressed up against a bathroom door, trying to calm his mentor down.

Working with Peeta was a complicated experience. Some days, he was intelligent and insightful, telling Mattock about aspects of the Games he never would have thought about. But other days he was practically a ghost, silent and vacant. Of course even those days were better than the type he was having now. There were days where he was erratic and violent. Mattock was pretty sure on days like this he didn't know who any of them were. So he was in the middle of trying to remind him.

Anthracite had helped him by filling in how all of the other tributes had done. From Diamond, putting forth a cold and calculated persona, to the boy from Ten pacing during his interview. She had scoffed at how sweet and polite Carlotta was being, and merely dismissed the two Elevens as 'nice'.

But now it was her turn. Mattock decided that Peeta was a lost cause and focused on his district partner instead. He knew she was going to do well, she had always been particularly great with people. But he still worried a little bit.

"Hello there Miss Weitz." Kallia said with a large grin, "You made quite a splash at the parade. What does it feel like to be the most talked about Twelve since Katniss Everdeen?"

"Weird." She said with a slight laugh, "I mean the attention's nice. But also being compared to Katniss is not really a good thing, you know? Not that I'm anything like her really. I could never be the girl on fire. I hate fire. All things hot really, ever since the heat wave a bit back."

She was rambling, something she did when she was nervous. Mattock thought it was adorable.

"What happened in the heat wave?"

"I almost died, actually. I got heat stroke. If Mattock hadn't carried me to the hospital I would have been a goner."

There was a gasp from the crowd. Mattock gasped as well. He had told her they shouldn't mention anything about their past together. They had already attracted too much attention. He suspected their stylist was trying to kill them after the parade outfit. Anthracite clearly didn't understand how much danger they were in.

"Well look at that folks. We have another team who know each other. You're saying Mattock saved you?"

"Not just that." Anthracite said, "He ran the whole way, in record breaking heat. By the time he got to the hospital, he collapsed. The hospital admitted him too, but he lost one of his kidneys in the process. Mattock gave up a kidney for me. If that doesn't say selfless, I don't know what does."

Mattock stared at her in disbelief. Seriously, what was she doing? It was one thing to know each other. It was another to talk about how he had saved her. How close he had come to dying himself.

"So it begins again." A voice rasped from behind him. The bathroom door was open and Peeta was looking at him with eyes that were simultaneously searingly intense and very far away. "A boy saves a girl. A boy falls for the girl. And then the girl turns out to be a mutt and tears him to pieces."

Mattock ignored Peeta saying he loved her. That was something he would never admit to.

"You've said that before." Mattock said, "that she was a mutt. I haven't met her of course, she died before I was born. But her sister seemed pretty normal."

Suddenly his mentor's eyes snapped sharply back into focus. "Prim's alive?"

"Yeah." Mattock answered, not knowing how someone who lived in Twelve wouldn't know that, "she founded the hospital. Without her, both Anthracite and I would be dead already."

Peeta collapsed onto the ground, once again distant. Most of the time he was afraid of the man, sometimes he was scornful. But in that moment he felt a deep sorrow towards him.

"What happened to you?"

Ushers came to retrieve Mattock since it was almost his turn for an interview. But he heard the victor's answer as he walked away.

"I don't actually remember."

**AN: So this was a chapter, wasn't it? We're getting so close to the games and things are starting to build a bit. Also, you might have noticed this reads a bit easier now. That's partially because I fixed the glitch where FFN was eating my words and partially because I finally got a Beta Reader. Thank you very much to Luna's Fanworks for making sure my I's were dotted, my T's were crossed, and everything was capitalized as needed. I hope you all enjoy, are staying safe, and have a wonderful day.**


	25. Dreams and Disasters: The Night Before

**Titania Topaz, District One**

It had been a long night. A long week, really. Ever since Titania had volunteered, she had been rushed from one activity to the next. She imagined that once she got into the arena the chaotic atmosphere would be even worse, until she either won or died. The time between now and the morning was likely to be her last quiet moments in quite some time.

Which is probably why she was so annoyed when she got back to her floor in the training center, and found a man waiting for her there.

He was middle aged, with his blonde hair beginning to turn to gray. His soft features and smooth skin clearly spoke to a lack of hard labor. To Titania he looked like every other Capitolite. Yet somehow, she knew exactly who he was.

He stood, flashing her a nervous smile. "Miss Topaz. You look so much like your mother. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is-"

"Ignatius Wren." Titania cut him off.

"So your mother... talks about me?" He looked so hopeful as he said it, which just made Titania angrier.

"Not really. The rest of One does, though. A good quarter of them think you're my father."

"And what do you think? I know she's chosen to keep quiet about that, but did she ever tell you?"

"She offered to once. But I told her I didn't care." Titania answered.

She still didn't care, though she couldn't say the same for the rest of District One. She had heard the entire lurid story from whispered conversations and veiled insults. Her mother Sapphire had been one of the most well known jewelers in Panem at one time, due partially to the man standing in front of Titania. Ignatius had been her patron, bringing her to the Capitol and expanding her business by introducing her to a whole new market. The Capitol had loved her designs, and soon enough everyone who was anybody and a piece made by her. Sapphire had fame and fortune beyond what even many Capitoloites could imagine.

All of that changed when she became pregnant with Titania.

"I mostly came here to introduce myself. And to see if you needed anything. Anything at all."

"I must be doing amazing in the polls right now." Titania responded, "We both know you wouldn't bother if I was unpopular."

"I think you have the wrong impression of me."

"Do I?" Titania was controlling herself, but only barely. Her voice came out as a low hiss, "my impression of you is a clout chasing, crowd pleasing coward. You were in a perfect position to help my mother. Stand by her, shelter her from the scandal. But instead you cut all ties with her. Because to help her would reflect badly on you."

To his credit, Ignatius didn't deny the accusations. "I deeply regret my actions regarding Sapphire. That's why I'm here. Let me make things right. Let me help you."

"I don't need your help," Titania said, "I'm going to win the Hunger Games. I'm going to bring honor to District One, the Topaz name, and I'm going to restore everything that my mother lost. That you let her lose. And I am going to do all of that without your help. Goodnight Mr. Wren."

She turned and walked into the hallway without bothering to see if he had left. She was hoping it looked like cold indifference, but reality was the opposite. She felt like she was splintering into she couldn't afford that. Now was not the time to fall apart. Not the night before the Hunger Games.

She knocked on Diamond's door and opened it without waiting for an answer. He was at his desk, fiddling with something.

"Do you still want to know why I picked you?" She asked.

"Of course."

"Because the sign of a true victor is their allies. Someone they can depend on. Someone they can trust. We only talked a few times before all of this, but you always talked to me like a person. Not the career prodigy or the daughter of Sapphire Topaz. Just me."

Diamond stopped what he was doing and looked at her thoughtfully. "That's all well and good for you. But... I'm trying to win too you know."

"Alliances go both ways. I've got your back Diamond."

"I'm glad." Diamond said, then went back to what he was working on. Titania shut the door and went to her own room.

She slept fitfully, tossing and turning the whole night. Just one more thing Ignatius Wren had managed to ruin.

**Dash Grester, District Two**

Dash couldn't sleep, partially because of excitement. When he had left the Career Academy, he realized that the goal he had worked towards for years might not come true. Even when he began training by himself, determined to volunteer anyway, he knew that it was a desperate scheme with a low chance of success. But somehow, things turned out better than he could have possibly hoped for, with an official endorsement from the council. He was a few days and twenty three tributes away from everything he ever wanted. Naturally that made sleeping difficult.

What also made sleep difficult were the noises coming from Zella's room.

He had learned over the past few days sharing a floor with the girl that she was prone to activity at night. She claimed to only need four hours, and she always appeared to stay up longer than him and get up earlier. But she had always shown some basic courtesy about their different needs. Tonight, he could scarcely go a few minutes before a loud thump emanated from her room. He had almost drifted off to sleep, but the sounds had woken him up twice.

On the third occurrence, he got up to investigate what was going on. Zella's room was a mess, with old Games tapes and scraps of paper with combat maneuvers on them scattered all over the floor. Zella herself was furiously scribbling at her desk. Half of a set of throwing knives were near within reach of her, while the other half were embedded into the wall. At least he had discovered what was making the noise.

Dash was not entirely sure he wanted to forgive her for what she said during the first day of training. He was a generally laid back guy, willing to allow people to make mistakes. But there were some things he couldn't let go. Zella had crossed a line, and while she had spent the rest of training trying to make up for it, all of it rang rather false to him.

As he watched his district partner try to work out some last minute strategies, he came to the strange realization that he had been watching Zella Waneta most of his life. Most district's mayors had children, he imagined. But most of them weren't also married to the Head Peacekeeper. The Wanetas were the ultimate power couple, and nothing short of celebrities in District Two. Ever since Dash was young, he could remember news reports and television streams of Zella's birthdays, school graduations, and status updates about her career training. Once, a couple years ago, a reporter had asked her if her dyed hair and piercings was setting a bad example for the other children in Two.

Zella flipped the reporter the bird, then told them that nothing was going to change who she was. Dash had respected that at the time. He was so afraid of what his parent's loyalties meant for his future, so concerned about making the right and logical move. They were opposites, in almost every way. Meeting her had just confirmed that for Dash, from the very first moment where she practically forced him into being her lieutenant. But he was not sure he respected her for it any more. He wondered if it was his opinion of her that had changed, or his feelings about himself.

But as she sat there grumbling to herself, Dash realized that not liking her was not a good enough excuse to let her suffer.

"It will be fine," he told her. His voice startled Zella, and he ended up having to dodge one of her throwing knives. "Your plans are good. And I'm sure you'll be able to come up with new ones once we're in the arena."

"It has to be better than fine." She answered, "I'm already not the leader. Sure, we talk all this bullshit about there being three of us, but we all know who's in charge. Those watching will know too. My mom and dad are going to see me out there, taking orders from a One of all people. So my plans need to be fucking flawless."

She was turned away from him, but Dash could still catch the tears in her eyes. The girl didn't deserve his sympathy. Everything she was dealing with was of her own making. But he couldn't help himself.

"Of the career victors, what percentage of them were leaders of their pack?" He asked her.

"Twenty percent." The answer was automatic, one of those facts she had memorized. As easy to pull up as breathing.

"With an average of six people per pack, that's not really better odds is it? Do you think your parents care if you're the leader, or if you win?"

"They'd probably have to think about it." Zella spat, but she seemed to relax a bit.

"That strikes me as more their problem than yours."

Zella went still, and the two experienced a rare moment of silence together. Then she spoke again, tone heavier and more serious. "I didn't really mean it. What I said."

"That's part of the problem. That you can say it so casually."

"I guess that's fair. I'm trying Dash."

"I know."

Zella wrote something down, then folded it into a paper airplane and threw it over to Dash, "Revised Bloodbath strategy. Could you take a look at it for me?"

"Could you stop throwing knives into your wall?"

Zella sighed, but placed the remaining knives into her desk drawer.

**Carlotta Pierce, District Ten**

Carlotta had discovered rather early on in the week that the only time no one was watching and analyzing her was at night. It reminded her of when she lived in the group home, before her aunt had taken her in. The caretakers there were sadists, always eagerly looking for an opportunity to punish the children there. Carlotta had grown up with everyone just waiting for her to fail, changing the rules until she did.

But at night, the caretakers were all asleep. This gave her the ability to move about as she wanted without fear of punishment. The Capitol seemed very similar to her. One wrong move, and she was dead. But tonight, and only tonight, no one was watching.

In the center of the main living room, there was a wide window that opened up to a ledge. There was a force field around it, but the ledge was large enough for Carlotta to use as a makeshift balcony, looking out on the twinkling lights of the Capitol.

The window behind her slid open and suddenly her mentor Blaire was sitting next to her, a cup of tea in her hands.

"Why are you up so late?" Carlotta asked.

"Me? Oh I'm just planning a murder." Blaire smirked and took a long sip of her tea.

"Honestly, same."

Blaire laughed slightly and almost choked on her drink. Then it got quiet as they stared out at the city together. The silence grew taut with expectation. Carlotta got tired of waiting and spoke first.

"Don't bother."

"Don't bother what?" Blaire asked.

"I can tell you're going to try to cheer me up. Or relate to me. Maybe talk about what it was like for you last year. I don't need to hear it."

"So you're telling me not to do my job."

"Exactly." Carlotta said, "It's a job. And right now it's late at night, before the games start proper. This is as off hours as you can get. So you don't have to pretend to care about me right now."

Blaire laughed. "You haven't changed." she said.

It was the first time either of them had acknowledged that they knew each other. Not that it had ever been particularly well. They had merely been classmates. Carlotta knew her more by reputation than anything. They had talked a few times, but the most substantial conversation they ever had was when Carlotta had come to say goodbye to Blaire after she had been reaped.

"You have." Carlotta said, "Quite a bit. I might even like you a bit now."

"Have you ever thought maybe I like you?" Blaire asked.

Carlotta scoffed, "You really want District Ten to win this year don't you?"

"Oh I definitely do." the victor answered, "I want to be the first outer district to win twice in a row. I want someone to take my place so I don't have to mentor, or go to the Capitol anymore. I want to show Kaenas how capable I am, I want to be able to save someone for once. I want to be the person that you keep trying to push away but never can. I want to guide you even when you fight me tooth and nail until you come home safely. Because I don't just want District Ten to win. I want you to win. Because I like you. And because I owe you that much."

Carlotta couldn't outright dismiss what she was saying, and that pissed her off. Blaire had a habit of throwing her off balance, of getting shots in between the cracks of her walls. It had happened last year as well, when she had gone to say goodbye to the girl. Carlotta had done it more out of obligation than anything. It didn't seem right to know a tribute and not give them that basic courtesy. She had thought it might benefit het as well, maybe help her get more comfortable with the thought of death. Yet the visit had stuck with her, and not in a good way. When she came home, she ended up crying for hours.

Aunt Marge had tried to comfort her, held her while she cried. But eventually, she started to talk about Dyson. That was the moment that Carlotta truly started to hate her. She had been sitting in her own pain, and the only thing Marge could do was talk about her dead son. That was when Carlotta understood that she was just a replacement, and could never be anything more.

"What would you even owe me for?" Carlotta asked, "We've only talked maybe six times."

"It only took once really. Did you know that you were the only person outside my family to say goodbye to me?"

Carlotta didn't know that, and honestly couldn't believe it. Blaire had always been quite popular. "Bullshit."

"It's not. People get weird around death I guess. That visit got me through some of the worst times in my life. You're why I'm still alive today. So I'm going to return the favor."

"I don't need your pity."

Blaire laughed again, then finished off her tea. "I promise you Carlotta, this isn't pity. I don't have any of that left."

**AN: oh hey another chapter. And we're SO CLOSE GUYS. Just one more, for the preparations the day of, and then we are off to the bloodbath. It's going to be hard to lose a single one of these guys, I love them so much. So all you submitters can pat yourself on the back for making my job hard. I hope you all enjoy reading, please review!**


	26. Fear and Focus: Before the Games

**Raleigh West, District Six**

"Try not to eat too much. Food is going to be difficult in the arena. So the trick is walking the line between making sure you have enough energy and preparing your stomach for less food." Drift said to Raleigh. They were sitting in the dining room, along with Astra, Hebe, and more avoxes than was probably necessary. Hebe was having a conversation with one of them in sign, but stopped to turn to Astra.

"He's right. I've seen so many tributes eat so much at the Capitol that their body starts to forget what it's like to be hungry. That's one of the few advantages non career districts have, so I wouldn't waste it."

"I've never actually been hungry." Astra said, almost ashamed of the fact.

Raleigh certainly had. The South Corner was one of the poorest areas of District Six, and it was where Raleigh had lived his entire life. Both he and his twin brother had taken tesserae both years they qualified for it, and even then his family struggled to keep from starving. It seemed a foreign concept to him to have never actually been hungry, to always have food on the table.

"Well. It's not actually a big advantage." Hebe amended, "I wouldn't worry about it."

Instead of being reassured, Astra scowled and shot a scathing look at Raleigh. He cleared his throat a bit and didn't meet her gaze. They had never been the closest district pair, but up until a day or so ago they had at least been civil towards each other. Raleigh wasn't sure what had changed. He wondered if it was because she had realized just how often his tics happened. He did try to suppress it on occasion. But sooner or later it bubbled up and he couldn't hold it back any more. Raleigh wouldn't blame her if that was the issue. After all, stealth was an important part of the Hunger Games. He couldn't help but wonder if his tics would give him away.

Drift looked over at the clock and stood up. "It's time to go."

There was something final about those words. Raleigh had spent the morning in denial, somehow hoping that this moment wouldn't end, that breakfast could go on forever. But even as he thought that, he knew it was impossible. Bad things happened, people died, the world was unfair. This was just the way of things. He grabbed an apple and placed it in his pocket for the journey.

Drift looked over at him, for what Raleigh realized may be the last time, and straightened his collar. "Us South Corner folks are always underestimated. You've got a better chance than they know."

Raleigh hugged him, and then the mentors traded places. Hebe smiled at him, but she stared at him in a strange way. As if she was trying to memorize his face.

"It was good to meet you, Raleigh West. I hope we see each other again."

Raleigh didn't respond. There was nothing to say. So District Six left the training center together in silence.

**Elixane Marcus, District Three**

Elixane had never been on a plane before. She knew all about the basics of flight. After all, she was a Three. The concepts of thrust and aerodynamics were familiar to her. But that was not experience. That was the problem with District Three, at least according to Elixane. Everything there was theoretical. Most folk seemed content studying a thing instead of exploring it. It was a difficult place for a girl like her to grow up, brash and reckless and not as smart as her parents wished she was.

But now that didn't matter as much. She was on a plane, actually flying, on her way to the competition that would change her entire life.

Dash was next to her on the plane and handed her a piece of paper, an action she found rather impressive given they were both strapped into a fast moving vehicle. She took it and carefully unrolled it.

"What is this?" she asked.

"Revised plans for the Blood Bath." It wasn't Dash but Zella who answered, "That is if you know how to read it."

"Of course I can read battle plans. Do you think I'm an idiot?" she snapped. The girl from Two shrugged and rolled her eyes.

"Who knows what they taught you at that Three school."

It was true that the Career academy for District Three most likely had a different training style than those in District One or Two. She couldn't be sure of course, since travel between districts was very closely monitored, but she imagined that there would have been a whole lot more combat at the other school.

Fighting was also part of the curriculum; District Three was aware that a career would be completely lost without some ability in battle. But the academy placed a particular focus on theoretical aspects that Elixane imagined the other upper districts didn't bother with. She had taken classes in Psychology, Military History, Crisis communication, and basic Hunger Games Arena design. There was even a class called Ancient Culture where they gave candidates books, movies and games from before the Dark Days. Lately, ancient references had been making their way into the arena, and the founders of the academy had thought the tributes would have a leg up if they could recognize when something was from an existing source.

Elixane preferred the practical lessons. However, it seemed like a lot of the military tactics had paid off, as she and Zella were able to communicate rather effortlessly about combat plans.

She hated to admit it, but the girl was a strategic genius. Her plans were practical but flexible, easy to change on short notice when new information was presented. She had a bit of a flow chart sensibility to her, directing the reader to a different part of her plan depending on how many enemies there were or what the environment was. They were absolutely beautiful, and Elixane had spent more time than was strictly necessary analyzing them all merely out of respect for the craftsmanship.

However, that didn't mean she liked Zella. In fact she was pretty sure she hated the girl. It wasn't just because they were both vying for the role of leader in the event that Titania ever showed a moment of weakness, though that was part of it. And her brashness was annoying but harmless enough. The worst part was that Zella seemed to think of Elixane as an ally. When they were alone she would murmur vitriol about Titania, or one of the other tributes. Her mind was bloodthirsty and cruel. She thought like a soldier, which Elixane supposed she was. All of Two gave off that vibe at least. Elixane didn't find the concept of killing children appealing. It was part of the Games, but that didn't mean she needed to enjoy it. Yet when Zella talked to her, it was always with a wide smile. As if they were the same person.

They definitely weren't at all. Zella was there for personal glory, and because of pressure from her parents. Elixane's parents hadn't wanted her to be a career at all. She had to fight them every single step of the way. Even when they had said their goodbyes, she could see by her father's expression that they were still trying to find a way to change her mind.

Elixane was there for a little glory, perhaps. But she had so many other reasons to be there. Without the games, she would be stuck in lower middle class drudgery forever. Her sister would never be cured, her father would continue to make depressing digital art pieces that no one wanted to buy. And beyond just her family, every child who was more interested in doing than thinking would be stuck with factory work as their only option.

The career academy in Three gave people like her a chance to be important. There was not a lot of non intellectual fame in her home district. If she did well here, an entirely new career would be open to people. One that didn't rely solely on how smart someone was.

Of course, it depended on her and Ashlar to stay open. So for now she would have to play nice with Zella, and all of the other careers. She was not a particularly patient person, but she could do it if she had to. Now was the time she would need it the most.

"These are really good." She said, and Zella looked reluctantly proud.

"Just don't ruin them. I know you're supposed to be our leader in combat, but if you make those tactics look bad I will stab you and take over myself."

"I'm going to make them look so good the Capitol will be talking about it for decades. Just you wait." Elixane said. She sounded petulant, but she couldn't help herself.

Zella smirked a bit and Elixane could feel the plane turn. They were close to landing. Soon, she would be in the middle of the Hunger Games, what she had been training for for years.

She couldn't wait.

**Ashlar Granodum, District Three**

Ashlar's heart was pounding so hard that he was genuinely concerned for his health. He tried to slow it down with some deep breathing techniques, but he could still hear it in his ears. The thumping was reassuring as much as it was concerning. And he had to admit that there was a good reason for his body to be reacting in such a way. After all, he was mere minutes from entering the arena.

When he was a child, he remembered watching the Hunger Games with his parents. They had explained to him about the rebellion, and how the Games was hosted every year so that Panem could memorialize the loss. It was an important part of Panem culture, of history, and though it seemed barbaric it was necessary. He had believed in the message wholeheartedly. One day, as his mother liked to tell people, he proudly declared that he was going to be a volunteer tribute like his favorite from District Two. His parents had laughed at him then. After all, there were no volunteers from District Three.

Except now there were. He was incredibly proud to have been chosen as a career for his district. He loved Three, just like he loved Panem. And it was an honor to be able to be part of this historic Games.

No wonder his heart was beating so fast.

The tunnels underneath the arena were cold and utilitarian. The walls were white, and completely empty. Wires and tubes ran above his head, but aside from that his path was clear. He was led by two peacekeepers through the corridors, which seemed to turn and branch off in strange incomprehensible patterns. He wondered how anyone could navigate them without getting lost.

Finally, they turned one last time and Ashlar found himself in a room with his stylist, Aurora. She smiled at him warmly and held out the uniform that he would be wearing for the games.

It was a relatively simple pair of separates: The top was a loose front button up with square short sleeves and stiff collar. The bottoms were shorts that went about to his knee, with rather deep pockets, and made from a smooth, dark green material like cotton. They were accompanied by a matching green hat and silk green scarf. Ashlar couldn't help but think about the parade outfit of the girl from Eight. He wondered if they had made these outfits already or if it was a direct reference, although he wasn't sure it mattered too much to him either way.

Ashlar changed into the clothing, rather pleased with how light the entire thing was. Aurora checked on him to make sure everything was in place, smoothing out his collar. She had not been a particularly emotional stylist. All of their interactions had been very businesslike and formal. Yet there was something about that small action that made Ashlar realize she would miss him.

"Do you have your token?" she asked.

Ashlar nodded and raised his wrist, where the small gold chain was already fastened. His girlfriend Agata had given it to him, and it was something that he dearly treasured. Whatever happened, he would have her close to him the entire time.

It was a reassuring thought, because although Ashlar was excited, he was also nervous. There had never been a pair of Three careers before. He didn't know if their training truly measured up. He didn't know if the other careers would truly accept him, or if he would even make it through the bloodbath. Nothing was certain. He didn't even know what the arena would look like.

Aurora gestured to a large tube in the center of the room and Ashlar hesitantly stepped inside. It began to rise, and he realized that now was not the time to think about everything he couldn't control. He was a Tribute, he represented his home district, and he had trained to make sure that he would make them proud. He would make them proud, no matter what happened out there. No matter what tricks the arena or the other tributes threw at him.

It was what he had been dreaming of since he was a small child.

The tube started to fill with a bright light as he reached the surface, and Ashlar looked out into the arena of the Hunger Games for the very first time.

**AN: and that's the pregames! Are you excited? I'm excited. This has been such a journey guys, and I can't wait to actually get into the Games with all of these wonderful tributes. Hopefully no one gets mad if I kill their character. Also, Jimster920, Ruben's submitter, has suggested making a discord for this story. Let me know in a PM or comment if you guys would be interested in that. Anyway, thank you very much for reading!**


	27. At the edge of destruction

**Arachne Weber, District Eight.**

Arachne had seen a lot of Hunger Games before. They were mandatory viewing, after all, and she could only look away for so long before someone noticed. There were certain things that always happened. The tributes were always placed in a circle. There was always a countdown. There was always a cornucopia. As she rose out of the ground she searched for these familiar things as a way to get her bearings.

The tributes, like always, were standing on individual platforms in a wide circle facing inward. She could see their green clothes even through the darkness. That darkness was the first strange thing. It was the day time, she could tell. The sun was almost in the center of the sky, and Arachne could feel the heat on her neck. Yet it was dimmer than she was used to, a deep red-orange that gave the arena a dark oppressive feel.

That feeling was influenced by the second strange thing: black sand. Usually in an arena, you were able to get a sense of the different environments just from looking around on your platform. But the only thing that Arachne could see was thick black sand. It stretched on in every direction, gathering into jet black dunes that prevented her from looking much farther. She turned around to look in the direction she would probably be running. At first she thought it was the same as all the other directions: nothing but large black sand dunes. But then she realized that out in the distance there was something that seemed more solid, even though it was the same color as all the sand around her. A mountain.

No, not a mountain, she suddenly realized. A volcano. And the sand wasn't actually sand, but ash.

Arachne heard an electronic beeping noise above her and looked to the sky. Projected there was a countdown clock with thirty seconds to go. Thirty seconds to decide if there was anything near her she wanted to risk taking. Thirty seconds to plan her escape. Which meant that she could no longer ignore the third strange thing.

She truly wished she could. For some reason the heat and the discolored sun and the sand that wasn't really sand didn't bother her as much as what she saw in the center of the circle of tributes. There were changes in the formula for the Games of course, but there were always constants. Arachne clung to these constants, used them to clear her head and form a plan. But what little composure she had was quickly beginning to slip away.

Because instead of a cornucopia, there was only a large hole.

**Demetri Donovan, District Five**

It didn't make any sense. There were various supplies scattered around the area, as was standard for the Hunger Games. Demetri caught sight of a bright blue case near him, and a couple of weapons and bottles of water he could get to without too much risk. But the cornucopia itself, where the best supplies and weapons were, didn't seem to exist.

Or maybe it did. Demetri knew that the Capitol liked new things, but there were some ingredients to the Hunger Games that you just didn't mess with. The Cornucopia existed. Why wouldn't it? Most likely, it was down inside the pit, where no one could see it. If anyone wanted to reach it, they would not only have to brave the other tributes, but whatever lay inside that pit.

As Demetri was thinking, he heard someone yelling directly to his right. Elixane was on the podium right next to him, and she had one hand cupped over her eyes, scanning the area and spouting off a series of numbers and letters that Damian didn't know the exact meaning of.

However, the more he watched her the more he understood their purpose: she was giving instructions to the careers. It reminded him of when some neighborhood boys tried to make a football league. Whatever those words were, they were connected to a play that the careers had already planned out. All Elixane had to do was pick the right plan for the situation.

Demetri felt a pit grow in his stomach. The careers were using tactics this year. The careers won almost every year without an organized system of attack. He dreaded to find out what would happen now that they were coordinating with each other.

The timer continued to count down. Fifteen seconds left. Demetri had originally planned to leave the bloodbath without any supplies. But now that seemed like a terrble idea. They were in the middle of a desert, and it was hard to say just how much water would be available. Demetri couldn't rule out the possibility that these supplies would be all there actually were. He had to get something, even if it wasn't much.

Except Elixane was right next to him. Going for anything might be risky. He looked over to his left. The boy from Twelve stood there, trying to signal to his district partner. Most likely Demetri wouldn't need to worry about him. So perhaps he would just go to the left…

Five seconds left. Demetri took a deep breath, then looked around the arena one last time. He accidentally locked eyes with Elixane, who smiled at him. She took something out of her pocket, her token presumably, and tossed it over towards Demetri. It landed in front of him right before the timer reached zero.

There was a bright flash and a loud roar as the mines near him triggered.

**Violet Beckingridge, District Eleven**

For a split second, Violet thought that a cannon had already gone off. That was impossible, the cannon was always disabled during the bloodbath. But it was the first thing she thought of when she heard a deep boom loud enough to make her ears ring. Then she noticed that on the other side of the circle, one of the mines had activated. One of the tributes must have gotten too eager. It was a shame, but it wasn't something she had time to focus on right now. The timer had wound down and she was stuck right next to the boy from Three.

She had intended on holding back a bit, letting the career rush the pit that most likely held the cornucopia and picking up the supplies that he neglected in the meantime. However, that didn't happen. He ran off his platform at the same time everyone else did, but seemed to stop halfway between the circle and the pit. He grabbed a dagger on the way there and took a defensive stance. Violet tried to step to the side, but Ashlar followed her, keeping himself between her and the giant hole in the center. Violet realized that he wasn't the only career who hadn't rushed the cornucopia; Titania, Elixane, and Zella had also taken a defensive stance, preventing any non-career from getting to the center while the other four headed there unchallenged.

Violet watched as Diamond disappeared down into the dark pit, then emerged moments later with a glaive, which he threw to his district partner. Titania caught it, then swung at the boy from Seven, slashing through his stomach. The blow was so vicious that Violet could practically feel it herself, a sharp wet feeling in her lower abdomen.

It took her longer than she was proud of to realize that she wasn't just imagining the wound. There was a dart sticking out of her side, not enough to do any damage but certainly enough to hurt. Clearly these had been among the scattered supplies outside of the pit, and were probably meant for Diamond. But Violet had been watching him the entire time. She turned and saw Astra staring straight at her, about to throw another dart.

There was no time to think of a plan. Violet charged the girl. She was a good deal bigger than her, so the girl from Six fell onto the ground, dropping the brown messenger bag that she had been picking up. Violet grabbed the bag, and picked the direction that seemed to have the least tributes fighting in it. It was too risky to stay here. So she ran as fast as she could, leaving the bloodbath behind.

**Issa Williams, District Eleven**

Issa was between a rock and a hard place. He hated that he could only think in idioms right now. If there was ever a time for original thought, he believed it was probably in the middle of a fight for his life. And yet there he was, thinking about how he was between a rock and a hard place.

He could still smell the mixture of smoke and burnt flesh from the mine that had gone off near him. Elixane turned, smiling in triumph, and walked slowly towards him. They were in the middle of a battlefield, yet she didn't seem rushed at all. Issa was sure she was doing it just to mock him. To make it clear that she could kill him, and she didn't even have to move quickly to do it.

It was a rotten bit of luck that he had come out of the underground chamber next to a career. He hadn't been trained like her, and he was far less eager to kill. But suddenly something overcame him. His skin became hot and his vision dimmed, as if it was filtering out everything that wasn't important. All he was aware of was his will to live, and the girl in front of him.

His token had been a rather unique one: a sky blue colored pencil that he had salvaged from the street one day. One of the capitolites had tried to take it from him, claiming that it could be a weapon. But the other people near him had found it perfectly harmless and allowed him to hold onto his item.

Time to see if that capitolite was right.

He dug into the pocket of his shorts and pulled the pencil out, jabbing at the career with as much strength as he had. He felt something give as it sunk into her neck and she screamed from pain and rage.

Issa turned to run, but found himself staring right into the eyes of Arachne Weber. Her eyes were innocent and scared. Was he what had scared her? Issa had never thought he would be able to intimidate anybody.

Carlotta was walking towards the both of them too, but there was no fear in her eyes. She wrapped an arm around Arachne and whispered in her ear. The younger girl relaxed slightly and whispered something back.

That's when Carlotta snapped her neck.

Issa let out a scream of shock and horror, and backed up a few steps before he remembered what was behind him.

A rock and a hard place. That's where he was, and it was all he could think about.

He decided that his chances would be better with the girl who wasn't trained, and ran past Carlotta as quickly as he could. The girl didn't pursue him.

The dark black dunes were difficult to get his footing on. They slipped and shifted as he ran. Just as he was almost across one of the dunes, out of range of the bloodbath, he twisted his ankle and fell all the way back down.

It was rotten luck, really. Who could say if anyone else in his position would have done any better? As he looked up at the discolored sky, Titania Topaz came into view. She raised her glaive up high, then everything went black.

**Seaward Waters, District Four**

Things were going according to plan, which made Seaward uneasy. Plans never went perfectly, that was just the way of the world. Yet even with something as unexpected as the cornucopia not even being visible, the careers had managed to perform their battle plan perfectly. The edge of the pit had stairs carved into it made out of dark obsidian rock. They were slippery and easy to miss, but it was a clear way down. As the other careers fought to keep people off of his back, Seaward and a couple of the other faster tributes in his alliance went to retrieve weapons from the cornucopia.

It was maybe fifteen or twenty feet down, in an underground cavern. But the cornucopia was one of the most beautiful things that Seaward had ever seen. It was a dark blood red, and absolutely overflowing with all manner of supplies. He grabbed himself a bow, then got a sword for Elixane and began to climb up the stairs again.

It was a strange experience, coming back to the main battle after reaching the cornucopia. In the underground cavern, things seemed quiet. Peaceful even. But outside of the pit, everything was chaotic. As he looked at the battle, he realized why all of the tributes were dressed in green. In this forsaken wasteland of an arena, there was no green anywhere. No trees, no flowers. That meant that if he saw green, he could assume that it was a tribute. The capitol had equipped them all with an anti-camouflage.

He called Elixane's name and slid the sword in her direction, then scanned the area to determine which tribute he would target. His eyes landed on the boy from twelve. Not particularly a threat, but Seaward had the feeling that he could be a bit of a dark horse. Plus he had a rather well known alliance already with his district partner. He drew back his bowstring and fired.

He didn't hear the thud of an arrow connecting. The fighting was too loud for that. He did hear a shriek nearby, but there were screams all over the bloodbath. It was only when he felt hands on his chest that he realized the scream had anything to do with him. Anthracite Amber Weitz had been closer than he had realized. Much closer. With tears in her eyes, she shoved him.

It was a weak shove. The kind of shove that came from someone who clearly had no combat experience. An attack that he would have deflected or dodged if he hadn't been focusing too much on lining up his shot. Even then, he barely faltered. It was only enough to make him take two steps back.

Those two steps were enough. He caught on the edge of those sleek obsidian steps, and before he had even truly processed everything he was falling backwards. As he fell all he could think about was how unfair it all was. He had trained for years, and now stairs were going to be his undoing.

Stairs, and the girl from Twelve.

**Raleigh West, District Six**

Raleigh tried to gather his breath, but it continued to come in jagged gasps. He wasn't sure how, but he had made it. He had survived the bloodbath. It had been everything he feared it would be, but now he was in a cave about a ten minute run from the pit. He probably wouldn't be safe here forever, but he was one step closer to getting out of the games alive.

He unzipped the white fanny pack that he had managed to grab before leaving to see what was inside. This pack was the reason he had a large gash on his forehead, so he was desperately hoping that whatever was inside wasn't useless.

The first thing he found was a small water bottle, empty and only about the size of his fist. Then there was a canister of chalky tablets that had the letters 'water treatment' on the side. If he found a source of water, at least he knew he would be able to drink it. Finally there were a handful of pre-soaked alcohol wipes and a needle pre threaded with medical thread.

Raleigh's eyes lit up as he realized he had everything he needed to treat his head wound. Most tributes died from natural causes. He remembered hearing that. Dehydration. Starvation. And infections caused by untreated wounds. His injury wasn't serious, but if he left it untreated it would be.

He grabbed an alcohol wipe then paused. Perhaps it would be better if he waited a little longer. The cannons from the bloodbath would be sounding soon, and he didn't want to be caught off guard with a needle in his hands. So he prepared everything that would be necessary, then waited for the inevitable sound of death.

It didn't take much longer. The cannon was loud and deep, sounding almost as if it came from everywhere at once. Raleigh counted as each blast resolved.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then silence.

Raleigh couldn't believe it. He had been in that bloodbath, he had seen how ruthless the careers were, how even the outer district tributes got desperate for supplies and turned on each other. It seemed completely impossible that only three people had died.

Yet the cannon didn't sound again, and it was never wrong.

This was not terrible news, at least not to Raleigh. More people still alive meant there were more people for the careers to hunt down, most likely in worse condition than he was. All he had to do was lay low and wait.

His breathing had finally calmed down, so he took one of his alcohol pads and opened the package.

**AN: Welcome to the Ashlands, everyone! Sorry for the slight cliffhanger at the end there, I'll resolve who has died in the next chapter I promise. We're in the Hunger Games! It's been quite a journey so far hasn't it? I love all of these characters and it's going to be really tough killing them off. I thank all of you so much and hope that you enjoyed this. Also! I made a discord. It is really small and messy right now, but it exists. The link is: z54AHgT (just get rid of the spaces.) I hope to hear from you!**


	28. Taking in Strays

**Tanner Kelly, District Seven**

Tanner had dealt with a lot of pain over the years. He had experienced strain and injuries multiple times at the lumber yard. The first time he had cut himself on the job, the other workers had laughed and said he was officially one of them now. There was even pain at home, thanks to his brother. Pain was merely a part of life, if an unpleasant one. But what Tanner felt right now made him wonder if he had ever truly felt pain before.

Stomach wounds were nasty. They were almost always fatal, but it took a while. Sometimes it took hours of agony before a person finally died. Tanner had seen it, if only once, after an accident at the mill. A man had tripped and fallen on one of the was asked to help carry him to the nearest medic. The man screamed the whole time. Sometimes late at night, Tanner would hear the screaming and see the blood splattered across the walls of the mill. He had never seen so much blood.

Until today.

He pressed his arm tightly against his abdomen, trying to stop the bleeding. It felt like he was keeping his organs from falling out. Most likely he was;the thought made him queasy. Still, he wasn't going to just sit around and die. If there was a way to survive he was going to find it.

He wasn't entirely sure how long he had been walking. The fields of ash seemed to go on forever, a sea of black dunes. The sun moved in the sky, but that was the only way he knew time had passed at all. There had to be some sort of landmark in this arena. The Capitol would be boring if there wasn't. Wouldn't it? He had to hope. Hope was all he had left at this point. Hope that he would find something soon. Hope that he could find water. Hope that he wasn't accidentally going in circles.

If he was going in circles, would he know?

Tanner felt delirious from the blood loss. If he wasn't going in circles, his thoughts certainly were. He couldn't concentrate for very long before his thoughts slipped away from him.

He was also pretty sure he was seeing things. From the corner of his eye he caught a blur of movement and turned to get a better look at it. Heading towards him was a person dressed in black. Tanner couldn't quite remember why, but he knew someone wearing that color was impossible. Was he seeing Death? At this point it was the only thing that made sense.

The figure took his hand and Tanner didn't have the strength to resist. They led him to a cave, where he finally passed out from the blood loss.

Tanner was surprised that he woke up. But he did, with his pain reduced to a dull ache and the feeling of a breeze sending shivers down his spine.

"You're awake then?"

The voice started him, and he tried to bolt upward before he was stopped by a searing pain. Right, the stomach wound. He looked down and saw that the large gash was wrapped in bandages, then looked to his side. A girl was sitting there, leaning against the wall of the cave they were in.

"Who are you? Where are we? Where are my clothes?" Tanner asked. He knew that some of those questions were more important than others but his head was still having problems making thoughts work at all.

"Astra Porter. The Hunger Games. And they're over there."

He was not happy about her flippant response. He knew he was in the Hunger Games. He wasn't particularly great at remembering things at the moment, but it was a difficult thing to forget.

"Over where? I can't really look right now. Why did you even take them off? That's kind of creepy." Tanner said.

Astra stood up and walked behind him, which he found frustrating since he couldn't turn very well. Then she returned, holding some black cloth.

"I couldn't tend to your wounds with them on. Believe me, there was nothing sexy about it."

What she was saying made sense, even though Tanner couldn't help but feel a little violated. He squinted at the fabric the girl held in her hands.

"How did you get it black?"

"I stained them. With the ash." She said, "I got the idea from this." Astra reached behind her and dragged a black briefcase so that it was between them. She opened it up, then turned the case so that Tanner could see what was inside.

He almost gasped. The briefcase was much larger than he had realized, with pockets and hidden places to store things everywhere. There were bottles of water, dried food bars, and small packages of nuts. He could also see several clearly labelled medicine bottles, a lighter, a needle and thread, bandages, a foldable knife, and a thermal blanket that was attached to the top wit a velcro strap. It was one of the largest bags Tanner had seen outside of the Cornucopia.

"How did you get that?" he asked.

"I fell on top of it actually." Astra said, "If the girl from Eleven hadn't pushed me, I probably never would have found it. It matched the color of the ash exactly. So I thought to myself, maybe I should try to blend in too. So I stained my clothes. And yours, since I had to take them off anyway. What do you think?"

Tanner thought quite a few things. Mostly he was impressed. Though he was also scared, which was reasonable. His injury was bad, even with Astra's bag of Capitol medicine. And he didn't know if she was someone he could trust. There was a small seed of suspicion that he couldn't ignore.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked.

"No. But… only one of us can win. You could have saved these for yourself. Let me die."

"If I won like that, I don't think I could live with myself." Astra said, "Although I admit it will be nice to have some help around. At least for a little bit."

"In that case, thank you."

Astra nodded, then threw Tanner his clothes.

**Anthracite Amber Weitz, District Twelve**

"Demetri? Demetri!" The loud voice shook her awake. Anthracite felt a little woozy, and she had a terrible headache. She must have been knocked out somehow. Her memory was fuzzy, but she felt like she remembered being hit by a career, some time shortly after she had pushed Seaward into the pit.

Shoving him had been an accident. She had just been acting on emotion. Seeing Mattock shot like that had awoken something inside her, and all she could think about was protecting her friend from harm. After the boy from Four fell, she had returned to Mattock. He was limp and bleeding. She had tried to carry him away but someone had caught up to her. Anthracite didn't see them, as she was turned away from the center of the bloodbath. But before everything went black she heard a voice say 'This is for Seaward'.

It was a bit of a wonder she was alive at all. The career must have assumed she was dead and left her unconscious in the desert. Anthracite knew that she was lucky, but she didn't feel like it. Instead she felt like something great and unfair had happened to her.

She sat up and opened her eyes. She was exactly where she had been attacked, about fifteen feet away from the podiums they had all come in on. After the chaos that was the bloodbath, it seemed eerily empty. The only other person who seemed to be around was the person who had been shouting. The tribute turned and caught eyes with Anthracite and started to run towards her. Soon she was face to face with Carlotta Piece, who looked incredibly disappointed.

"You're alive then." The girl said. Her tone made it sound like Anthracite was some ugly thing, like a frog, or a piece of garbage.

"Yes. I guess I am." Anthracite whispered, "How many?"

"Casualties? Only three. Sort of surprising really. The careers this year can start the job, but it doesn't look like they can finish it."

"Do you know who any of them were?"

"I saw Issa's body lifted up. And Arachne. Arachne's gone."

"Are you sure?"

"I am." Carlotta started to smile, a wide predatory grin, "I've killed things before, of course. Wrung the necks of chickens, hit a cow between the eyes. They're different, but you start to be able to feel it. When a life goes. I'm not the kind of person who botches my murders."

Anthracite felt like she should have some sort of reaction to Carlotta's confession. This girl had just proudly admitted to slaughtering a thirteen year old girl. Yet all she felt was numb.

"So the third death must have been Demetri." She said.

"No!" Carlotta yelled it so fiercely that Anthracite jumped, "No he's alive."

"He was right next to an explosion. You can still smell it."

"It doesn't matter. He's alive. He's a clever one. He'll figure it out. He didn't die."

Anthracite wasn't sure why she was pressing it this hard. It's true that the explosion made Demetri's death likely, but the bloodbath had been complete chaos. Several people had been injured. If the girl from Ten wanted to believe that her ally was alive, what was the harm?

Except Carlotta spoke the truth. Death was a physical thing. Anthracite knew the minute Mattock stopped being himself and started being a body. He had called her name, then let out one last gasping breath. But she refused to believe it and tried to carry him away anyway.

If Demetri wasn't dead, Anthracite knew who was. But she refused to believe it. She wanted to live in denial for as long as she could.

"See? Look there." The girl from Ten said, breaking Anthracite away from her memories, "Proof that he's alive."

She turned and looked. In the distance, there was black smoke curling into the sky.

"How do you know that's Demetri?" She asked.

"Because that was our plan. So either Demetri or Lucien did it, and I can't see Lucien figuring out how to make a fire in this kind of place. So you can stop saying it's Demetri. He's alive. Clearly he's alive." The hopefulness in her voice was clear, and Anthracite couldn't understand how someone who had killed a child in such a cruel manner could be so desperate to see someone else survive.

"If he is, that mean's Mattock's dead." She said. Saying it aloud gave weight to the truth, and it filled her with a pain sharper than the one on her head, "Kill me. None of this means anything without him."

Carlotta stared at Anthracite for a moment, cold and unreadable. Anthracite closed her eyes, preparing herself for death. Instead there was just a moment of pain as she felt a slap across her face.

"Seriously?" Carlotta yelled, "That's it? You're going to give up just because a man can't protect you anymore? No, you're too pathetic to kill. Too easy, and you already know my bar is super low for that. You really want me to kill you? Find a reason to live. Otherwise it's just boring."

Anthracite touched her cheek. It was still warm from the impact of the smack. "You don't make any sense." she said.

"I don't have to." Carlotta answered, "Now get up. Demetri and Lucien will be here soon."

**Elixane Marcus, District Three**

Only three deaths. Elixane couldn't believe how low that number was. She was not entirely sure there had ever been a bloodbath with only three deaths. Four, maybe, she could remember numbers that low. But Three? Could that even properly be called a bloodbath? A blood sprinkle maybe. A light blood drizzle. The Capitol was probably already complaining about how boring these games were, and since Elixane was in charge of combat, it was her fault.

"I'm sorry." she said to Titania, who was sorting all of the loot in the Cornucopia. The cavern was cool, which perplexed Elixane. Given the black rocks, she would have thought it would absorb the heat of the sun. The capitol must have some sort of technology to keep that from happening, since inside the pit was actually quite comfortable. They had all decided to set up camp in the main rotunda of the cavern. There were four dark tunnels at the edge of the cavern, each facing a cardinal direction. The careers had decided they would explore those later, after they had combed through all of the supplies and recovered slightly from the bloodbath.

"What for?" Titania asked, looking up from the pile she was working on.

"For such a disappointing bloodbath."

Titania actually laughed at that, which made Elixane feel worse. It was getting very difficult to keep smiling. She was already reeling from the pain in her neck and the smell of blood and the realization that killing was not at all theoretical. But even at the bottom of the pit, there were cameras all around. She couldn't show a sign of weakness, not ever. Elixane had to be just as much of a career as everyone else, twice as much even. Otherwise District Three would never be respected.

She wondered if the other Careers weren't bothered by all of the death, or if they were just pretending to smile too.

"Except it worked perfectly." Titania replied, "We managed to keep everyone else away from the Cornucopia, there was a giant explosion, and none of us died. We're trained, but the bloodbath is tough for everyone. Usually at least one Career dies."

"I'm not sure that this exactly counts as a victory." Elixane said, looking over at Seaward. Dash and Cordelia had taken the boy from Four off of the top of the Cornucopia where they had found him and wrapped him in a blanket, where he remained unconscious. He had broken so many bones he barely looked like a person any more, and that was just the external injuries. No one knew how bad it really was.

"He's still alive, so I think it does." Titania said, "That reminds me. There was a girl at the training center. Her first aid was phenomenal. Maybe we should go find her."

Zella was walking by them at this point and joined in on the conversation, "Why do we need a medic? We have all of these supplies."

"Do you know how to use them?" Titania challenged. Zella's silence was a clear answer.

"There's smoke." Diamond yelled from his position on top of the pit where he was acting as lookout, "Do you think it's a trap?"

Ever since the Seventy Fifth Hunger Games, many tributes had attempted to use fires to lure the Careers away. For a while, the careers caught on and stopped investigating obvious fires. That was until Hebe Dagnus insisted to her allies that they light a large smokey fire. The careers had considered it an obvious trap and their camp had been safe for the entire day.

"We'll probably have to investigate it regardless." Titania said, "Zella? What do you think."

Zella processed the situation for a moment, then started to speak, "Cordelia and I will go investigate the fire. Kill any moron still there. Titania, you and Dash can go look for this medic. I think we should just slash Seaward's throat instead of getting more people involved in this fucking huge alliance, but what do I know. Elixane and Ashlar can protect the cornucopia. And Diamond?"

"Yeah?" the boy asked.

"I want you to walk in one direction for five minutes then double back. If someone does try to come for the cornucopia, we'll have bigger numbers than they realize."

Diamond nodded, then left the pit immediately. Cordelia and Zella gathered up a few weapons and supplies for their hunting mission, then left as well. Dash and Titania didn't leave immediately, consulting a map they had found in the back of the cornucopia to try and decide where they should search for the medic first.

Ashlar had been tasked with finding a safe place for their food stores, but had finished some time ago. He now sat on a blanket near the south edge of the cavern, playing with a deck of cards they had found. Elixane sat next to him, trying not to sulk. She knew Zella had kept her back at the cornucopia because she was injured. She even knew that it was the right call. But she was supposed to be the combat leader. It was her job to be out there fighting.

"You want to be in the hunting party, don't you?" Ashlar asked.

"Is it that obvious?"

"A little. But this is a pretty good assignment if you think about it."

"A good assignment?" Elixane scoffed, "She benched us. Probably thinks that us Threes can't do anything."

"Not necessarily." Ashlar said, placing a card down on his solitaire stack, "Let's say this is a trap. Someone is trying to lure the careers away. If that's true, where would that person go next?"

Elixane wanted to kick herself. If it was a trap, the tributes would go straight to the cornucopia. She had thought that Zella had put her out of the way, somewhere she couldn't fight. But she had actually put her right in the middle of where a battle would most likely break out. She hated to admit it, but Elixane was starting to like Zella.

"So you don't know where she went at all?" Titania's voice was loud enough for Elixane to hear it even from the other side of the cavern.

"I was busy getting to the Cornucopia. Ashlar was the one guarding that zone."

Titania looked over at Ashlar. Her gaze was so full of fury that even though they were quite far away from her, Ashlar looked at the ground.

"I… was a bit preoccupied with the girl from Eleven."

Rage bubbled up inside Elixane, "So you just left a giant hole in our defense?" she said, "She could be anywhere. She could be in here with us, right now, and none of us would know."

At that exact moment, a pebble skipped across the ground and hit up against the cornucopia. Everyone turned in the direction it came from, near one of the tunnels that they had yet to go inside. Standing in the mouth of one was a small girl looking at them all bashfully. She waved.

Titania laughed and waved back.

"Hello there Serena May. We have a proposition for you."

**AN: Hello everybody! This chapter is a bit of a slow one, but they can't all be stabby ones. Everybody is dealing with the aftermath of the bloodbath, and trying to sort out what happened. Which means that I am now going to give the obituaries for people we've lost so far.**

**24th, Arachne Weber by Sherazade96- This girl was so sweet and wonderful and I wanted to hug her and keep her forever. But her skills were one of the weakest Games wise, and I kind of knew that she wasn't going to make it out of the bloodbath. I am going to miss her shy nature and her understated work ethic. Goodbye, darling Arachne.**

**23rd, Issa Williams by Civilwarrose- Issa was a great character with a lot of dreams and a skill set that he was never really able to show off, although I did try to show off a little of it with the colored pencil stunt. This one really did come down to luck. I semi-randomized the cornucopia order, and he ended up right between Elixane and Carlotta. Which… well you can see how that turned out. He was a dreamer through and through, and he will be missed.**

**22nd, Mattock Coccia by CuriousClove- I feel like since the bloodbath is so wild and unpredictable, someone who probably didn't deserve it will end up dying. Mattock was my 'surprise' casualty. The one that probably could have gone farther. But I am a bit of a sadistic writer, and I knew that I was going to break up the Twelve kids early. Mattock was brave, loyal, and prepared to make great sacrifices for Anthracite. Maybe this one will pay off, we'll just have to see.**

**So I am enjoying this story so much and am hoping to get the next chapter out soon. I thank everyone for reading. Please comment, and if you haven't joined the discord yet please PM me, I'll send you a link. Thank you!**


	29. Five is the New Three

**Tesla Nichols, District Five**

It was strange to realize that not even an hour ago, Tesla had been in the middle of a large desert. Where she had ended up looked absolutely nothing like the area that she had come to the arena in. All around her were large black leafless trees. They grew up in crooked, gnarled directions so high that she could barely see the sun shine down on her. As strange as the area was, she felt a sort of comfort being there. It was easier to hide in a forest, and there were quite possibly animals or berries nearby. There were a few dark bushes among the trees, though none that had any fruit yet. She felt like she had been extremely lucky that her position had been so close to this forest.

Or maybe it hadn't been luck at all. This morning, she had clung tightly to Magnus, trying to stay away from the games as long as possible. He held her in his arms, and in a low voice whispered to her.

"I pulled some strings. Your mines are going to be disabled. As the countdown reaches six or so, everyone will be concentrating on the timer. Slowly back away. And when it finally hits zero, turn and run."

He let go, then acted as if he hadn't said anything, and Tesla was dragged to the helicopter and her doom.

At first she hadn't believed that such a thing could be true. Rigging the games was just unheard of, let alone for a girl from District Five. Then again, if the message at the parade was to be believed, she was only here because of a rigging. Maybe someone among the gamemakers had thought to even the score a little.

It took more courage to step off that platform prematurely than she knew she had. But Tesla did it. When the explosion went off, she backed aways as she was told to, and moved slowly so that no one near her would notice. Then she ran as fast as she could, until she reached the forest.

Tesla heard a beeping sound up above her, and she looked up to see a golden parachute. It glided a moment in the still air, then got caught on a tree branch about a foot above her. She jumped up to get it, and found a spile inside.

Tesla had never been one to concentrate too much on the Games. The violence made her sick and she never thought that she would ever be reaped. But everyone knew about the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games. Her school showed some footage of both that and the Seventy-fourth as a cautionary tale. She remembered what it meant when Katniss Everdeen had received a spile, and her heart lifted just a little when she realized what getting that as a sponsor gift must mean.

She tried it with a nearby tree: positioning the spile then securing it in with a rock she found on the ground. Water began to pour out of the tree, as if the spile was a spout on her kitchen sink. Tesla felt a little giddy. She had found water, the most important thing to figure out on the first day.

It seemed to her that her suspicion was correct: someone really was watching over her.

**Lucien Narciso, District Eight**

Lucien was actually rather surprised that he was alive. Talking a big game was easy, but he knew where he stood among the other tributes. Aside from his charm and good looks, he didn't have much going for him. And in the bloodbath, good looks weren't particularly useful.

The only thing that really explained it was luck. Situated right next to Titania, he was in serious danger, but she ignored him in favor of blocking the way into the cornucopia. Lucien used that opportunity to gather as many supplies as he could see along the edge, as the career battled the boy from Seven.

He stayed on the edge of the bloodbath long enough to see his ally kill his district partner.

Lucien tried to justify it to himself. He came up with theories about how it wasn't Carlotta or how Arachne had somehow survived. Even as he thought this, he knew it wasn't true. He remembered seeing Arachne's body on the ground, twisted in unnatural positions. That sweet little girl from District Eight was dead, and despite all sense Lucien was alive.

Not only alive, but doing rather well for himself. He had found a large cave, and was making camp there, as well as sorting through his four bags of supplies. It probably wouldn't last him the entire time, but it could keep him alive for a day or so. Longer, if he decided not to rejoin with his allies.

He looked outside of the mouth of his cave to see if there were any other tributes nearby, when he saw a plume of thick smoke from somewhere in the distance. It seemed that he would have to decide whether or not he was going solo sooner than he would like.

Lucien had always harbored doubts about forming an alliance. He was not someone who liked compromise, and was afraid that letting someone that close would open him up to judgement. But he knew that he wasn't combat capable. All of the sponsor gifts in the world wouldn't do him any good if he got a knife in the back. Alliances were a practical choice for him, something to help improve his odds of surviving. They were never supposed to be emotional.

He hadn't talked very much to Arachne. She was quiet and he was focused on how to become the next victor of the Hunger Games. So he wasn't entirely sure how or when she had wormed her way into his heart. Yet she undeniably had, and the thought of working together with Arachne's killer made him physically ill. If the girl from Ten was his only ally, the decision would be quite simple. But the fact that someone lit a fire meant that Demetri might be alive. It seemed unlikely, but if it was true it felt wrong to leave him alone with Carlotta. And despite it all, he still couldn't fight well. Lucien couldn't very well hide in a cave and hope to be ignored forever.

As much as Lucien hated himself for it, he needed Carlotta. So he would do what they had all planned, and rejoin with his planned alliance at the cornucopia. He would smile and beam and be as helpful as he possibly could.

Then, at the moment that she least expected it, he would kill Carlotta Pierce.

**Zella Waneta, District Two**

Zella knew from the moment the careers spotted the fire that it was a trap. It was an amateur one, really, used so many times in the Games that it was practically a cliche. She couldn't really expect anything better from a non-career district, she supposed. Now that District Three was sending in trained volunteers, there weren't any more smart wildcard tributes; only hungry desperate children grasping at any chance for survival.

"_Don't underestimate your opponent."_ she could practically hear her father growling at her. His expression was etched into her memory after years of staring back at him. His thick eyebrows furrowed as he frowned, forming deep lines in his wrinkled skin. As the head peacekeeper, Zella's father took it upon himself to personally add to her career training. She would come home from the academy, sweating and exhausted, only to have to practice sparring forms or write an essay about ancient Roman war tactics.

Don't underestimate your opponent. It was a favorite saying of his, although the first time she had heard him say it, it hadn't been at her. She was playing chess with one of her father's subordinates, and the man was trying to toy with her. Naturally she toyed back, taking nine more moves than necessary to finish him. She was scolded for her inefficiency, while the soldier was scolded for his arrogance.

She tried to remember her father's advice as Cordelia and she headed towards the fire. The outer district tributes were not competition, not really. But even the world's least dangerous animal could do some damage when cornered. That was if anyone was still there at all. She was certain that when they got to the location of the fire, there wouldn't be anyone there.

She had never been quite so happy to be wrong.

Zella noticed the fire, if it could be called a fire anymore, was beginning to die out. The base was weakly made from dried twigs and grasses put together in a haphazard heap. Whoever made it also put it far too close to a pond. Zella could tell that it had been splashed on a couple of times from the look of some of the grasses. Smoke still thinly puffed into the air, but she couldn't see any visible flame.

That was less important than the fact there was a pond here. She was overjoyed to find a water source this close to the cornucopia. The careers probably wouldn't run out of supplies, but it was always a good idea to be prepared. It would also be a good place to lay traps for other tributes. The pond was thick, and smelled rather strongly of rotten eggs. But it was water. Judging by all of the dunes she had passed to get here, there was not a lot of that in this arena.

But neither the fire nor the discovery of a pond were what Zella was truly excited about. Because not even ten feet away from the dying flame was the burnt and bloodied body of Demetri Donovan.

He was still alive, she could see his chest rise and fall slowly. But he clearly wouldn't be for much longer. His body was completely covered in burns. Zella was pretty sure that he was missing an eye, and his left leg twisted under him uselessly.

"Couldn't quite get away from the scene of the crime, could you?" Zella taunted.

"You were a little faster than I expected." he said. His voice was scratchy and weak. After he finished he coughed from the strain.

"We left everyone else to keep watch at the cornucopia." she continued, "So how does it feel to know that your actions are going to get all of your allies killed?"

"Zella, should you really be teasing him like that?" Cordelia asked, but Zella just waved her off.

"What would you do if you knew you couldn't win the games?" The boy asked.

It was a strange question, and at first Zella wasn't sure why he was even asking it. They were practically strangers, and she was going to kill him if his injuries didn't kill him first. Perhaps that was why he was asking such strange things. He was about to die, and was looking to bond with anyone nearby. She supposed she could humor him.

Zella had never personally allowed herself to answer that question. She had been training for this ever since she could remember. Her nursery rhymes had been about the Hunger Games, her extracurricular activities all planned to give her a combat edge. Sometimes late at night, she would let herself fear for the future and wonder what would happen if she wasn't chosen, or if she died in the Games. But it was only ever a few seconds of weakness. She refused to let that sort of negativity into her world.

"I'm going to win, so it doesn't really matter." She answered.

"But if you knew. If you were unlucky, like me. And you realized you weren't going to make it. What would you do?"

Zella wasn't quite sure why she was humoring the boy. Some misplaced sympathy, perhaps. She walked closer to him and crouched so that she could meet his remaining eye.

"I suppose I would try to take as many people with me as I could."

Demetri took in a deep wheezing breath. "Then maybe you and I aren't so different."

Zella laughed. "And what do you think you can do?" All sympathy was gone, replaced by a cool scorn. How dare this dying boy compare the two of them? She grabbed onto his arm, the friction alone tearing some of his skin off. He screamed in pain.

"You can't even hold a knife, can you? How would you take anyone out when you can't do anything?"

"Zella…" Cordelia said, but Zella was too focused on the boy to listen to her fellow career.

"Well... there is one thing I can do." Demetri coughed out.

"Oh? What is that?" Zella asked him, leaning towards his hideous, burnt face. She wanted to be the last thing he saw. She wanted him to fear her. The tribute from Five shakily leaned towards her, and with the last of his strength whispered in her ear.

"Stall."

A rumbling noise started somewhere underneath her. At first Zella thought that it might be an earthquake, but she could also hear a gurgling along with it, the distinct sound of something wet. She could hear Cordelia yelling at her, but even as Zella tried to get up, she knew she wouldn't be fast enough. She was too close.

"_Don't underestimate your opponent."_

Why hadn't she listened?

The pond next to her started to boil, and the next thing she knew, it had erupted into a fifty foot column, bursting straight into the air. This wasn't just a pond: it was a geyser. The boy must have known, must have timed the intervals between eruptions.

And Zella had walked right into the trap like an idiot.

The water crashed down on her, both burning hot and highly acidic, and her last thought was about that chess game, all those years ago. At some point, the roles had been reversed. Through all her training, she had become the cocky experienced one, toying with her opponent.

All it took for someone to defeat her was someone younger and desperate, willing to pay attention.

**AN: Hello again! These games are really kicking into gear aren't they? I might have made a small bloodbath, but that doesn't mean things are going to be boring.**

**21st, Demetri Donovan by Jul312- It was probably unfair of me to let everyone know he was alive, just to kill him off the next chapter. But I ended up giving him so many injuries it just wasn't practical for him to live much longer. Still, I wanted to give him a really cool last moment. I think I did a good job with that. Demetri was enthusiastic and clever and full of joy. The world is a little darker without him in it. At least he did what he wanted to and took someone else out with him.**

**20th, Zella Waneta by Merp1Molecule- Zella was one of my first submitted tributes, and I knew I wanted to use her pretty much instantly. There were a lot of interesting details about her that I didn't manage to mention (like her heterochromia. Did you know she had heterochromia? You did not because I forgot to describe it). But do you know what this games would look like if she stuck around? The careers would just go to murder town. They would clean up so hard and I know that this is canonically what usually happens but it's boring. Really boring. One thing Zella never was, was boring. And even up to the end she managed to have so much presence and energy. You did good, girl.**

**As always, thank you for reading. Next chapter will be the end of day one (yeah, we're still on day one) and we'll get to check on some tributes we haven't heard from yet. Thanks again and please review!**


	30. A moment of remembrance

**Rust Waxy, District Nine**

It didn't make any sense.

Rust huddled in the corner of the cave he and Nettie had taken refuge in, going over the small amount of supplies each of them retrieved from the cornucopia. They both chose to run, relatively quickly, and only picked up a few objects on the way. It had still been fairly dangerous. The area around the pit was open, and their arena outfits stood out starkly against the ash. Someone threw a rock at Rust's head. Nettie was kind enough to create a makeshift bandage for him out of her scarf. They were safe, for the moment.

That safety gave Rust time to think.

"A blanket. Good." Nettie Sue said, and Rust looked over to his district partner. She was unfolding a silver thermal blanket that was the only thing inside the fanny pack she picked up.

"Why do we need a blanket?" Rust asked, "We're in the middle of a desert."

"Sand doesn't trap heat." Nettie Sue said, then corrected herself after Rust shot her a look, "I doubt ash does either. Deserts are hot in the day, but freezing at night."

"Even less sense." Rust muttered to himself.

"What do you mean?" Nettie Sue asked.

Rust was usually avoided by the people in his district. He didn't really have many friends, and could count on a large space to himself wherever he went. So he wasn't particularly used to people hearing him when he thought aloud. Even if they had, most people didn't ask about it.

"I mean this arena is terrible." Rust said, "From a Capitol standpoint at least. Deserts are hot, have no water, and have limited shelter. Now you're telling me it gets freezing cold at night. We're going to die too fast."

Nettie Sue looked contemplative, "Sometimes there are bad years. It's unfair but true."

Rust only answered with a grunt.

"You don't think so?"

She was asking him questions again. Rust wasn't sure he liked it. Voicing his thoughts was much harder than he expected. "I feel like the Hunger Games has been running long enough that most gamemakers would know that a desert is a bad idea. It's not just one person making a bad decision. It's a whole committee of them. This bad of a concept shouldn't have happened. It doesn't make any sense."

"Then there's only one possibility." Nettie Sue said, "It's not a bad arena at all."

"I just told you-" Rust started to speak, but his ally cut him off.

"Deserts are bad. I heard you. But we've only seen maybe an hour's walk worth of the arena. We were able to find a cave in that time: easy shelter. That was one of your problems, right? Clearly they fixed that."

"The water is still a problem." He replied, feeling oddly defensive about all of this.

"You really have just been grumbling to yourself for half an hour haven't you?" Nettie Sue asked.

"What do you mean by that?"

The girl didn't answer. Instead she stood up and beckoned Rust to follow her. He did so, though he was still fairly irritated. She led him to the back of the wall, then stopped.

"Oh wow. A dead end. This changes absolutely everything." Rust said dryly.

"Touch it."

He rolled his eyes, but reached forward and touched the wall. It was damp. He pulled away and looked at his hand, covered in clear water droplets.

"I tried to tell you about it earlier." Nettie Sue said, "But I guess you weren't listening. All we have to do is figure out how to get the water off the wall to purify, and we'll be able to pack some up in bottles."

Rust took his scarf off his neck, then placed it against the wall of the cave. He felt it slowly fill up with water. "Like that?" he asked.

"Exactly like that." Nettie Sue said, "So now all we have to deal with is the harsh temperatures. One out of three isn't too bad."

Suddenly, the back of the cave seemed to shimmer and warp, causing Rust to drop his scarf in surprise. The sound of the Panem anthem began to sound and a projection of the girl from Two's face stared back at him.

Nettie Sue hurried out to the mouth of the cave and looked up, "It's up in the Sky, like always." she said.

"Same image?" Rust asked as the face changed to that of the boy from Five.

"Yes."

That was interesting. Rust had the feeling that there was more to this arena than he knew. It made no sense right now, but given time he would figure it out.

**Diamond Stark, District One**

Diamond looked up at Zella's face staring back at him as the Panem anthem played and tried not to cry. It was a silly thing to cry over, really. They were in the Hunger Games. People died. If he was lucky, everyone here would be killed eventually. He was a career, and supposed to be immune to all of the bloodshed. He was not supposed to care about anyone else's lives.

He was particularly not supposed to mourn for Zella. The girl was a wrench in the machine that was the Careers since the beginning. Loud, arrogant, hateful, and controlling. Diamond was pretty sure that no one else liked her.

No one but him.

Thinking back to the first day of training, he remembered talking to her before lunchtime. Maybe that was why he felt a stronger connection to her than the others did. She joined him at the edible plants station that morning, and Diamond couldn't help but be curious about her.

"I like plants." She said, and for once Diamond didn't feel embarrassed to talk about his love for them as well. They talked the entire time about various plants and their uses, about poisons and balms and the historical uses of both. Zella was fiercely intelligent, and sure of her ideas. She reminded him of Titania a little.

Then all of the Careers gathered together for lunch, and the girl from Two betrayed Diamond and sank her status in the careers permanently with one word. Diamond barely talked to her after that. Partially because he was angry, but partially because he knew that somehow Zella had worn a chink in his carefully constructed Career armor. That if he confronted her, he would show vulnerability not suited for a boy from One.

As the face in the sky began to change, Diamond couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he had reached out to her instead of pulled away. He remembered that sharp, joyful girl who bonded with him over plants, and realized that she was dead now. She would never have a conversation like that ever again.

Diamond heard a groan near him and broke his eyes away from the sky. Limping towards the cornucopia was Cordelia, the entire right side of her body red and blistered.

"Cordelia's back!" he yelled back to the pit, and ran to the Four girl to help her, "Are you all right?"

The girl shot him a dirty look, and Diamond couldn't really blame her. She was gravely injured, he could tell. But she was also alive. Others weren't so lucky. Diamond went to her left side for support and helped her walk down the stairs to the bottom of the pit.

"What happened?" Titania asked.

"The boy from Five. He was waiting for us. Laid a trap." Cordelia sat down on a smooth rock, wincing slightly from the pain, "Zella walked right into it."

"That does sound like Zella." Dash said. Diamond glared at him, but the boy just shrugged.

The girl from Seven silently stepped up towards Cordelia and began looking at the girl's wounds.

"Well it looks like you were more successful than we were." Cordelia remarked.

"I guess you could say that." Titania said, "So, it might not seem like it but we've had a good day. I say we use tomorrow to recover, let the weaker ones die off. Then we can hunt in the evening when they expect it less."

"I say we should keep up our momentum." Elixane said, "There's more of us alive than usual, but there were only five deaths on the first day. We need to take down the outer district threats quickly."

"We need to make sure we are healthy enough to hunt." Titania replied rather forcefully, "If we keep getting injured like we have, we won't last long."

"Your role was to mediate discussions was it not? Zella was meant to lead military strategy. And I know all of her battle plans by heart."

Diamond doubted that anyone else noticed the split second of doubt in Titania's eyes; the moment when she realized that with Zella's death she had lost a small bit of control. Most likely all the others saw was the bright light of determination that followed after.

"You're right. Since you were in charge of the battles, it makes sense that the strategy also goes to you. But think for a moment. Look at your own injuries, and the injuries of everyone around you. This arena is harsh, if we don't take care of ourselves, environmental conditions will kill us. Is that how you want to die, from an infection?"

Elixane looked like she wanted to argue, but her hand slowly drifted up to touch the wound on her neck. The girl from Seven had bandaged it, but there was discoloration around the edge that Diamond was pretty sure hadn't come from the pencil.

"Late afternoon." she said, "And this medic you recommended better pull her weight, or else we might have to gut her in order to provide some entertainment."

Titania nodded once, then walked to Diamond. "You've been keeping watch all day. Even chased off those tributes that were near us earlier by yourself. Go sleep."

"Are you sure you don't want any company?" he asked.

"Ashlar said he'd do a shift with me. You don't have to worry about it."

"That's not what I meant."

Diamond had a knack for seeing patterns in the world, and he knew that the events of today had greatly shifted the pattern of the Games. Zella seemed like a wild card at first, but now it was clear that she was an integral part of keeping the Careers together. Everyone had been so focused on keeping her in check, preventing her from ruining the alliance with her arrogance, that they had all worked together. Now there was a power vacuum, and Titania was going to have to fight off other Careers trying to fill it.

"I'll be fine." she said, "Go to sleep. You're one of the least injured, so we'll need you at full strength."

He looked up at the sky again, which no longer held the faces of the dead. It was now pitch black, with the occasional star blinking in the distance. It filled him with an unpleasant emptiness.

"Goodnight then." He said, and went to a corner of the pit they had set aside for sleeping. He closed his eyes. Yet despite the darkness he could still see Zella's face.

**Ruben Ashven, District Ten**

Ruben stared in shock as the faces of the dead faded from his view. Up until this moment, the games possessed a dreamlike quality. He had been so full of adrenaline that he could shake off everything that happened around him. The bloodbath was loud and confusing and quick. There was no time to think about the smell of blood or the sound of tributes fighting another. Ruben just grabbed a few things and left. Thankfully his only injury was a black eye, which he got from the girl from Nine in a scuffle over a fanny pack. Even that happened so quickly that he operated entirely from instinct.

Seeing the list of fallen tributes made everything real. It was about survival, yes. But in order to do that, Ruben was going to have to get through twenty-three other children. People he had eaten lunch with and rambled far too long about his interests at. Eventually, he would even have to outlast his allies. They were both alive, according to the projection. Although he didn't know where they were. The three of them had come up with a lot of strategies for finding food and water and avoiding careers. But they hadn't agreed on how to find each other.

As Ruben looked around at his surroundings, he realized finding them might be harder than he thought. He had been relatively lucky to find a cave after he ran away from the bloodbath. He spent a while hiding there, going through the small amount of supplies he had carried, and checking himself for injuries. But he was terrible at staying still. After the adrenaline began to ebb away he started to search his cave. He discovered that in the back instead of a wall was a long dark tunnel. Ruben was lucky enough to have gotten a candle and a couple of matches so began to explore. His candle had burned out when the anthem started to project the faces onto the cave rock around him. He used that light to continue forward, which opened up to where he was now.

He was in a giant cavern, with a lake at least forty feet across in the middle of it. Every inch of the area was clearly visible, due to a number of bugs and plants that glowed with a faint green bioluminescent light. It was one of the most beautiful things Ruben has ever seen. He stepped forward and touched a glowing mushroom. The plant reacted slightly at the touch, pulsing gently with light. Underground seemed completely different from the dark ashy landscape he had left to come here from. Almost as if there were two arenas in one. It would be much harder to find a specific person than normal.

Still, he tried to look on the bright side. He had found water, and a safe place to camp where he wouldn't get bored. Ruben walked to the edge of the lake and filled an empty bottle he had found with it. He placed the container up to his lips.

"Are you really going to just drink that?" A voice asked. Ruben jumped and turned around, spilling some of the water on to the intruder. It was a boy, small and soft spoken. Ruben thought it was the tribute from District Six but couldn't remember his name.

"Well. It's not particularly a good idea, I know. But I used most of my matches trying to get here, so I don't really see a good way to purify it. Impure water can make you sick, but it isn't usually going to kill you. Usually. Dehydration will kill you though. It will kill you pretty fast."

The boy looked pretty unimpressed, which Ruben took more personally than he probably should have.

"You're from Ten, right?" the boy asked.

"Yes. I'm Ruben."

"Raleigh."

"Well…" Ruben looked at the boy, a thought working around his head, "Do you have anything to purify water Raleigh? I managed to get a lot of rope at the cornucopia, so I can make traps and stuff. I bet this is a good place for animals. We could work together."

"I already have allies." Raleigh said, then corrected himself, "An ally."

Ruben remembered seeing the boy with Issa from District Eleven, one of the faces that had been projected on the walls. He felt a pang of pity for the other tribute. "So do I. But I don't know where they are. Do you know where your ally is?"

Raleigh shook his head.

"Then maybe we can work together until we find them."

"You are reckless." The boy admonished, "First thinking about drinking unfiltered water. Now offering to work with me. You're going to get yourself killed."

For a moment, the younger boy sounded exactly like Ruben's mentor Kaenas. He couldn't even remember how many times the older man had yelled at him for his impulsivity.

"Don't underestimate me." Ruben said, "I bet you know what that's like. Being underestimated."

The younger boy blinked a couple of times, then walked over to a dry area by the bank and sat down.

"Let's try to set something up to purify that water then."

**AN: Hello again! Yes, I am alive. It's been a while I know, and there aren't any deaths this chapter which I imagine is a little disappointing. But we got to see how everyone is doing now that the first night draws to a close. I have decided that at the end of each day I'm going to have a little Capitol chapter, to contextualize things a bit and forward some subplots. So that will be next. I will hopefully have that out much sooner than this one. Thank you very much for reading. Please comment!**


	31. If We Shadows

Officially, the name for the small cluster of apartments slightly East of the center of the Capitol was called the Victor Capitol Residence block. However, no one ever called it that any more. Even the escorts had ended up defaulting to the much catchier 'Victorville' to describe it. The community had been built twelve years ago, as part of an initiative to try and integrate the Victors more. President Thornewood's predecessor, President Caine, had believed that the reason that so many Victors had turned on them during the Second Rebellion was because they hadn't been connected enough to Capitol culture. In response to this, he built Victorville and reduced the travel restrictions specifically for Victors. They were even allowed to stay and live in the Capitol, provided they went back to their home districts in time for the reapings.

All of the apartments were more or less the same. Large and lavish, but with the same floorplan and the same amenities. Victors were allowed to decorate the space, but if they didn't it was stocked with furniture and painted a neutral light beige. Peeta had never bothered changing it, so while he had lived more or less permanently there for almost a decade, his house could have been used as a showroom.

Except one vital thing was different in Peeta's apartment: the television. It was large, taking up almost the full space of his far wall, with built in speakers and crystal clear picture. It also had a button on the front, and a corresponding command on his remote control. When he had asked the Director of Victor Resident Affairs, Avalanche Rutherford, she had replied that it was an off button. Peeta hadn't even realized that televisions could turn off.

It was a token of appreciation, he was told. Since he was the saviour of Panem, he was allowed the honored ability to not watch the Games if he did not wish to. Peeta suspected that it was more out of fear than gratitude. His thoughts were hazy, but he did seem to vaguely remember throwing a chair out the window during a bloodbath. Or did he throw himself out of the window? Perhaps someone else? Details, as always, shifted and twisted in his mind. It was always difficult to say just what had happened at any given time. But things did seem to get worse around the Hunger Games. They meant something to him, deep down.

This year, he decided to watch anyway. He pushed that button and sat in front of the couch as all of the tributes were raised up to the arena. He caught sight of his tributes, separate from each other but close. Peeta couldn't quite remember what their names were. Did it matter? They would die. Like everyone died. Like Katniss died.

No, Katniss didn't die in the arena. He had choked her to death, in District Thirteen. She had tried to devour him, as all mutts did. Or she hugged him. Or the whole district had begun to rise from the ground. Or they were never in District Thirteen at all. Why would they be there, anyway? District Thirteen was gone, before they were born. Even if it wasn't, they destroyed it. He destroyed it.

He was giving himself a headache.

Peeta took a drink, which since he was Haymitch he was allowed to do, and looked back at the screen. The two tributes from Twelve had found each other. Peeta was about to run off with the supplies when an arrow hit him through the chest. Katniss had shot him.

Except Katniss was dragging his body, trying to get to safety.

Except it wasn't Katniss at all.

Peeta heard a shatter, and realized that his liquor bottle had hit the wall. He also heard a scream. Was it his? No. Female. He turned to see Katniss standing in the doorway, bow drawn.

"My name is Hebe Dagnus." She said, "Do you recognize me?"

"What?"

"Hebe Dagnus. I'm your neighbor. I wanted to check in on you. See if you were all right."

Peeta collapsed on the couch. Hebe. Yes, he knew her. She was one of the Victors who stayed in the Capitol. He never asked, but he suspected that like him there was nothing left for her in her home district.

"I don't need to be checked in on. Like I'm helpless." He snapped, even though he realized he was lying. Things were a little more clear now, but he still felt like he was floating. He could almost smell the blood from the arrow wound.

"I check on everyone who loses a tribute. Every year." Hebe reminded him, "Do you remember?"

Peeta laughed darkly. "No. But I can't say I remember much of anything."

"I made brownies." Hebe said, completely ignoring his last statement. Peeta wasn't willing to let it go.

"Why am I the only one like this? All of you here are Victors. Some of you even saw the war. Yet here I am, thirty-six years old and completely broken."

Hebe sat down next to him on the couch and held out a brownie to him. Peeta took it.

"It's not just the Hunger Games." She said, "I don't have the whole story. But you talk about it sometimes. Something happened to you, after the Quarter Quell. Though you've never told me what."

Of course. That was when the memories were thickest and most confusing. He remembered pain and bubbles and his flesh being torn apart and stitched together. Katniss had done something to him. Or did she? He remembered a room with Capitol insignia on it. Or was that the place they kept him when he was rescued? Or was that where he was rescued from?

Peeta clutched his head. The conflicting memories were too much for him. He had thought it would become better with time. And it was, sometimes. But sometimes it was like this.

"It's all right." Hebe reassured him, "You'll remember eventually."

"I doubt it." He said.

"I don't. And when you do remember? Come see me. I think we'll have a lot to talk about."

**AN: Well, that was quick. Not much to say here, except we're going back to the games next chapter. Hooray! Thank you so much for reading.**


	32. The Price of Mercy

**Titania Topaz, District One**

"Why does everyone look so glum? Did someone die?" Seaward joked, and injured or not, Titania wanted to slap him.

'You, almost." She spat back, "And at the hands of the girl from Twelve. In the bloodbath. Did District Four send us a career or a goldfish?"

"Well, I'm definitely pretty enough." The boy from Four was the only one who laughed at his own joke, though it wasn't very long before that laugh turned into a terrible cough. Titania looked to Serena May, who propped the boy up. Seaward screamed in pain. It was almost enough to make Titania pity him. Almost.

"Half the reason I didn't leave you for dead is so I could kill you myself. Now is no time to laugh."

"Maybe. But I bet the other half is that you missed me."

Titania rolled her eyes. Throughout her career training she had seen many of her peers succumb to attachment. Forming tight friend groups, getting romantically involved with some boy that was halfway nice to them. She never saw the point in all of that. Her goal was to win the Hunger Games. Failing that, she would be dead. The fewer people she cared for, the easier it was to face that possibility. No way a dumbass career with a questionable sense of humor was going to change that.

"So he's ok?" Cordelia asked. Serena May shook her head, gesturing.

"He's better, but not quite healed. He can probably use his bow, if he needs to, but it will be a day or two before he's able to actively hunt."

Titania provided the translation. She wasn't quite sure what all of Serena May's hand signals meant, but the two of them managed to communicate well enough. Every move the girl from Seven made was full of intention and meaning. All it took to understand her was to pay close enough attention.

"You can seriously understand her?" Dash asked.

Titania simply flashed him a cocky smile, "What, you can't?"

"We should be going." Elixane said, looking up at the sky, "If this is anything like a normal desert, in just a couple of hours it will be too hot to stay out in the open for long periods of time."

Titania rolled the idea around in her head like a marble held between her fingers. It was sensible, but that only made things worse. She was keenly aware that her position as leader had been thrown into jeopardy since Zella's death. The girl from Three was all too eager to take advantage of that. But rejecting a good idea just because it came from her competition would do her no favors.

"I can stay here. Look after Seaward. Good luck." she said.

Elixane seemed surprised by the decision and the stern way in which it was proclaimed. She appeared to be on the verge of putting up a fight on the matter, but stopped, turning sharply around to face something Titania couldn't perceive herself. A moment later, Titania heard it as well:

A pair of voices coming from one of the tunnels.

All of the careers froze, as battle training kicked in, the voices growing louder with each passing second. Titania knew it wasn't helpful, but mentally kicked herself, teeth clenched. She had always planned on exploring the tunnels that were connected to the pit. But after Zella's death, no one seemed willing to go out hunting again. Then Seaward was well enough to speak, and the entire issue of the tunnels was forgotten.

Depending on who it was coming towards them, Titania realized this could be a tactical error that cost them even more lives.

A pale green glow came from the dark, gaping mouth of the tunnel, and two boys entered the cavern. Titania recognized them both: the male tributes from District Six and Ten. Both had some talents, but neither was much of a threat, together _or_ separately. But even more importantly, they were both too engrossed in their conversation. By the time either of them looked up, Dash was descending upon them with his sword drawn.

**Astra Porter, District Six**

Astra stared at the empty water bottle as it twirled around on the floor of the cave. The translucent surface reflected light from the mouth of the cave, in a way that made it sparkle. There was a beauty to the moment, but she still sighed dramatically when the bottle slowed and pointed in her direction.

"I just went!" She exclaimed, "This would be much better if we just took turns."

"Turns are boring." Tanner said. Capitol medicine had done wonders for his injuries. Last night, Astra was certain the boy with the highest ranking private session would die on the very first day. But now, he was laying there, with a smirk on his face, as if nothing had happened at all. It wasn't perfect, of course. She saw him grimace in pain when he thought she wasn't looking. She still cleaned his wounds every hour, using up water that she could have used to drink. But this morning, there was hope that things would be all right for the boy from District Seven.

"Turns may be boring, but they're fair."

"Of course. Right, I forgot. We're in the Fairness Games."

Astra flicked a pebble at him, half playful, half warning. This game wasn't being played just for fun, after all. Tanner was improving, but he was still in dire condition. They needed to be able to stay in the same place for a prolonged period of time, something that wasn't common in the Hunger Games. Hiding tributes weren't particularly interesting. So they were coming up with ways to occupy their time, ways that a Capitolite might find entertaining. If they were both clever and lucky, the gamemakers wouldn't set a mutt on them.

They had to avoid saying anything treasonous in the meantime, however, and Tanner had been cutting it awfully close for the last hour or so. It wasn't that Astra disagreed with him. His sarcastic remarks and scathing criticisms were all things she had thought about herself. But she was rather fond of staying alive, and this sort of talk made things a little harder.

"Fine, fine. I'll play by the rules of your stupid little game." Astra said, "So ask me a question."

Tanner pantomimed deep thought, but she could tell he already had something in mind, "What is your most embarrassing moment?"

"You don't pull punches, do you, Kelly?"

"Never."

Astra giggled despite herself, then racked her brain for an appropriate answer to the question.

"Have you ever heard of Dagnus Towers?"

"I imagine it has something to do with Hebe Dagnus?" Tanner said.

"Yeah. Hebe was actually a bit of a legend in the Districts even before she won the games. At least that's what my parents said. She was some kinda troublemaker. Always pulling crazy stunts, shouting nonsense at peacekeepers. That sort of thing. There's a District Six rumour that she once climbed a ten story apartment building with nothing but a homemade climbers kit."

"That's amazing."

"It's not that impressive." Astra said flippantly, "Which is what I told everyone. I figured I could make a climbing kit like that too. It's not exactly hard. My sister Seriah, she must have been eight at the time, told me that I couldn't do it. So of course I had to prove that I could."

Tanner made a face that made Astra sure he had siblings. He clearly understood why Astra couldn't just drop it, why she risked her life on a stupid argument. "So did you make it?"

"I… not even close." she answered, "For the record, though, the kit worked perfectly! It's just the climbing part was harder than I realized. I ended up slipping, and caught my pants on a stray nail. My safety rope caught me, but that meant I was just hanging there, flashing half of District Six my underwear."

Tanner burst out laughing, and Astra could feel her face burn red from embarrassment.

"All right, spin again." Tanner said. She did, groaning with dismay when it landed on her again.

"I think this bottle's rigged." She complained through another fit of giggles.

Tanner looked like he was about to answer, but the sound of the cannon echoed against the walls of the cave, and whatever fleeting feelings of safety they had secured for themselves vanished instantly.

"What are we going to do if they find us?" he asked quietly.

Astra frowned. She had a plan in mind. But Tanner wasn't well enough yet. There was a very good possibility that if the careers found them, she would have to leave Tanner behind. There weren't any better options. but Astra wasn't going to risk her life for a stranger from Seven.

The truth must have been in her eyes, because Tanner nodded and they both fell into an uncomfortable silence.

**Serena May Lenovius, District Seven**

Serena May had always been a particularly fast thinker. She wasn't always the smartest, her ideas weren't always the best. But the older she got, the more she realized that the time it took for her to process things, to think them over, was less than it was for other people.

There were probably only a few seconds between when Dash began to move and when Raleigh's body hit the floor. Only one or two more before he raised his sword again to swing at Ruben. Her ally. Or at least, that had been the plan. Plans, she was beginning to learn, were the first casualty of the Hunger Games. Still, she remembered their time at the training center. She, Tanner, and Ruben plotting a half-dozen different strategies over lunch.

She saw his ever present energy, remembered the way Ruben always seemed to be moving. Ruben reached for his lasso, but he was going to be too slow. Serena May could already tell. Dash was a better fighter, a better killer. The boy from Ten didn't stand a chance.

With only a few, precious seconds to act, Serena May felt lucky she could think so fast. It gave her time for one last thought, before that beautiful, naive light in her former ally's eyes went dark forever.

"Stop!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. Her voice was like sandpaper coming out of her mouth, scratching at her skin and grating her ears. Speaking was always almost-painful. Not like cuts or bruises, but always somehow _wrong_. But if she simply _had _to speak,she was able to do so.

Dash stopped, midway through the killing strike, whirling around to identify the unfamiliar voice. The other careers, who had already gathered to back him up, stopped and turned to stare as well. Ruben took a couple steps backwards, but Cordelia was positioned so that she could still block off his exit path, despite the distraction.

Serena May locked eyes with Titania. The girl from One looked skeptical and even angry, but also curious, and approached Serena May. Crouching down, she wrote to Titania, dragging her finger through the black ash as quickly as she could manage.

'_He's my Ally.'_

"We're your allies." Titania corrected, out loud. There was anger in her voice, but not reflexive, like someone on the verge of an attack. Patience was what Serena May needed most of all from her, right now, and she could hear patience beneath the irritation.

'_I would hardly be a good one if I let you kill him.'_ she wrote, '_Please. Let him go. I won't ask again.'_

"Is that a threat?"

She was running out of space, so she wiped away her letters and wrote over the messy nonsense left behind.

'No. I mean that if you let him go, I won't ask for anything from any of you again. Just one chance. It's the least I can give him.'

Titania's lips drew thin in concentration as she glanced between Serena May and Ruben. Serena May knew that this was asking more than a lot. There was conflict between the careers, that was obvious, and she knew that Titania was just one wrong move away from losing her status as the leader of this year's career pack. That was a valuable position to hold, and a dangerous one to lose. In that case, her own death wouldn't be far behind, she was certain.

Particularly now that Seaward was stable, she had no power. All she had was an earnest request, and the hope that she had judged Titania correctly. That she would respect the concept of an alliance honored.

"Pick a tunnel." Titania said to Ruben.

"What?" He asked.

"What?" both Dash and Elixane echoed.

Titania met the eyes of all the other careers, speaking with an authority which left no room for argument. "Among the supplies in the Cornucopia, there were several padlocks, with keys. We are going to barricade these tunnels, and seal them with the padlocks. This boy here is going to pick a tunnel. He will go through, and whichever one he chooses, that is which one we'll build first."

She strode directly over to Ruben, hands balled into fists, and met his eyes, "The minute we finish, we come after you. Is that clear?" Serena May thought her voice sounded like ice in the dead of winter felt, pressed against warm skin.

Ruben nodded, wide eyed.

"Good. Now... pick. A tunnel."

Picking up his lantern, the boy turned, and Serena May noticed for the first time that the light was literally just a jar full of fireflies. Ruben ran, disappearing into the darkness of the Northern-most tunnel.

"Dash, Ashlar, start building. Doesn't need to be fancy. It just needs to keep other tributes out." Titania's demeanor was cold, and businesslike, reminding Serena May of steel. Harsh and unmoving. Yet steel could be formed into the most beautiful shapes. The girl from One had done her a huge favor, and it wasn't something that she would forget.

"So you're going to let him go?" Elixane asked, "Just like that? This is ridiculous."

"Elixane." Titania answered, her voice low, threatening, like distant thunder, "We don't have much time. The sun will get too hot soon, and we need the outer districts to see some Careers out there. Make sure they don't think we're planning anything. Make sure they believe they are safe in their caves."

Elixane's eyes widened as she realized just what Titania was saying and nodded. "An ambush. Clever."

"Get it done."

"You still shouldn't have let him go. He could warn the others."

"Then we best move quickly, don't you think?"

That was a bit more like the cocky, almost playful Career the rest of them knew, and Elixane took a deep breath. She nodded, and began to separate the Careers into teams. Titania returned to Serena May.

"Seaward is healthy enough to guard the pit." She said, although a scream of pain from the boy undercut her point slightly, "I want you to take the sentry position on the stairs. Make sure no one comes in here from up top." She held out a small hand axe, and Serena May took it gratefully.

"And one more thing." Titania added, "If you _ever _pull something like that again, I will gut you myself, right where you stand. Is that clear?"

Serena May simply nodded, once, and did as she was told.

**AN: Well that took a while, didn't it? But I have not forgotten about this story. I'm still plugging away at it. A moment for the fallen.**

**19th, Raleigh West by Tyquavis. One of the reasons casualties have been pretty low so far is because every tribute gave me so many ideas. I want to spend more time with them. Raleigh bounced up and down my list so many times. At one point I had him as a bloodbath, another as far as six. And so many plots. Raleigh was young, but he was more mature than most of the other tributes. I loved writing him, and I'm going to miss him.**

**Thank you for reading, and please review!**


	33. Three Paths

**Cordelia Korver, District Four**

The barricade was not particularly strong. Made predominantly of chicken wire, it twisted and poked out at strange angles, and Diamond had even laced many of the sharpest points with poison. Some of those points were slathered with green paint that only _looked_ like poison.

"I don't want to waste my supply." He said while Cordelia watched him apply a thin layer of green to one particularly prominent edge. She could see the wisdom behind that, and considered the paint a nice touch, the kind of thing only the most clever Career might think to do.

In the center, large enough to allow only one tribute through at a time, stood a rudimentary door made from the pack's surplus quarterstaffs and weapons cases. Dash stepped out, through the barricade and into one of the tunnels, snapping the padlock shut behind him.

"He's got a pretty good head start." Elixane said, "So be quick."

Dash didn't even bother waiting on Elixane to finish. He sprinted off and disappeared into the shadows a few meters deep, his footsteps eerily quiet for such a large guy. Cordelia watched him go until he was completely out of sight, before turning to help with the other barricades.

Those Careers who were still around didn't make much conversation. Seaward was in too much pain to be his usually jocular self, only the occasional hurt cry reminding the others he was still a part of the pack. Zella was gone as well, dead, so most of the chatterboxes were no longer there. Cordelia liked to flirt, just to lighten the mood somewhat, and she was more comfortable making pleasant conversation once in a while than the rest of the pack seemed to be. But, just as often, she stayed silent. Ashlar seemed like he shared her attitude. She found that he was charming, but reluctant to begin a discussion on his own. Titania and Elixane were the initiators, and both of them had gone silent as a pair of ominous pillars, as though the group were being led by stone statues.

Cordelia had her own opinions about Titania's leadership, but she kept them to herself, focusing on the tasks at hand without allowing herself to ruminate on such thoughts. Life was always easier when you didn't fight this sort of thing. But Elixane was clearly on the road to learning that lesson the hard way. Sometimes, she would meet her district partner's gaze, or look coldly at one of the other careers. She seemed as though she were looking for signs of unspoken support.

Cordelia always looked away.

Given the rather basic structure of the barricades, their construction went swiftly. Cordelia wiped some sweat from her brow. She found that the pit was much cooler than anywhere else, but even down here, the heat of the arena penetrated enough for hard labor to be that much warmer.

"Does everyone remember their assignments?" Elixane asked, once the group was finished with the barricades, and regrouped for discussion.

"Titania and Diamond up top, Dash North, Cordelia South, you East and me West." Ashlar said without hesitation. Elixane nodded. There was an effortless understanding between the two volunteers from Three. A dynamic that reminded Cordelia of the pair from One. They had clearly trained together. It made her wonder why more career districts didn't do that. She had run into Seaward a couple of times, but they hadn't talked at length, hadn't bothered to strategize or get to know one another. There wasn't any special bond between them like there was between the Careers from One and Three. At the moment it seemed like a great shame. On the other hand, perhaps it could be as much of an advantage as a drawback, depending on the circumstances. After all, only one tribute was going home.

"Well. See you guys later." Cordelia said, whirling on her heel, heading in the direction of her assignment at the Southern-most tunnel.

"Wait." Elixane called sternly.

"What?"

"Just remember that this is meant to be a surprise attack. Hit fast, but then retreat. The fewer tributes know about the tunnels, the better this will go for us."

Strategy was something Cordelia had quickly grown bored with, but like with Diamond and his stash of poison, she could see the sense behind this reminder. So, she made a quiet sound, one that probably sounded positive for the most part. She didn't particularly care one way or another. "Sure, sure. Can I go now?"

Elixane laughed. "Go get em."

She didn't need to be told twice.

**Carlotta Pierce, District Ten**

"Anthracite! Get your dumb ass over here and have something to eat." Carlotta hollered. The girl from Twelve barely made a sound in response. She continued staring at the wall of the cave, an activity she had been engaged in for some time now. Occasionally, her whole body shook from quiet sobs, and the entire performance was beginning to irritate Carlotta something fierce. District Twelve was supposed to be a poor district, poorer even than Ten. How did this girl not know how to deal with death already?

Carlotta was five when someone she knew died for the first time. One of the girls from her group home had been struck by the Red Fever. Not knowing what else to do for the poor girl (or else, as Carlotta suspected these days, not caring,) the leaders of the house had placed her in a room all by herself and forbade anyone from going in.

Even then, Carlotta didn't much listen to rules. Sneaking in one night to share some tesserae she had stolen, and perhaps give the girl some company, she instead came face to face with her corpse. It was pale and glassy eyed, with strangely bloated skin, and blotches of sick red rash all over her face the way those with Red Fever always had. Carlotta's scream woke every single caretaker in the home. They disposed of the body, but she still contracted the fever herself after such close contact with the corpse, and was forced to stay in that room alone, with nothing to keep her company but the smell of death.

Even then, she had been strong. Carlotta had survived then and she would survive now, regardless of the fact that both of her allies were weaklings. She picked Lucien because of his looks, and because he was fairly easy to manipulate. But Demetri was the one she thought would be doing most of the heavy lifting. Demetri, who turned out to be far too clever for his own good. That same night, she saw the flickering image of the girl from Two in the sky as well. Carlotta was positive her former ally had had something to do with that, and felt strangely proud of him, though she would never have admitted to that.

She hadn't _chosen_ Anthracite to be her ally at all. There were still moments when she thought about killing the other girl. Still in mourning over _Mattock_, she was barely worth the oxygen wasted by keeping her alive, and Carlotta couldn't help wanting to puke every time she heard the girl cry out her district partner's name when she thought no one could hear. Yet something stopped her from snapping her neck, the way she had done for that poor girl from District Eight. Some gut feeling that she couldn't quite understand.

Carlotta was ripped from her sullen introspection by a sudden grinding sound, as a section of the wall Anthracite was staring at separated from the rest, and opened to reveal a secret passageway. Anthracite gasped and scooted away as far as she could, just in time for a boy to step through the secret door. He was dirty and caked with blood, though Carlotta couldn't see any wounds to suggest the blood was his. His breath came out in ragged gasps, and he clutched something against his chest that appeared to be a... jar of fireflies?

"You're the boy from Ten, aren't you?" Lucien asked. His voice was gentle, calming even. Carlotta could see the intruder relax after just a few words from her ally. weakling or not, she had picked Lucien to be her ally for a reason, and this was it. He had a way with people, both from the Districts and the Capitol, something she lacked in the extreme. Sure, she could charm someone for five minutes or so. But she always ended up losing her temper at some point.

"Ruben. My name is Ruben." the boy from Ten said, "You have to go. They- they're behind me."

"Who is behind you?" Lucien asked

"The Careers."

It was impressive just how quickly those two words changed the atmosphere of the cave. All three who were here first, Carlotta and her two allies, had been suspicious of the newcomer at first, but confident enough to remain open minded. Although Ruben had only appeared moments ago, their approach to questioning had been slow and deliberate, curious as to what had brought a bloody boy before them so abruptly.

The moment they heard the word 'careers', however, they began packing their belongings as quickly as possible. It pleased Carlotta to see that even Anthracite had stopped her moping in order to stuff some things in a bag.

"Do you want to join us?" The girl from Twelve asked Ruben.

"Anthracite." Carlotta scolded. There was no way she was going to take in any more strays. Taking care of another useless child without skills of his own was the _last_ thing she needed. She wasn't going to get to know another person just so that she could watch them die.

Carlotta griped inwardly, forced to remind herself that she didn't particularly care about that last part, anyway. A relationship could only ever take three paths. Either the other person left you, betrayed you, or died. Death was the best of the three, really. If someone died, that meant there was a chance they still liked you when they went, probably. Most of the time, death was a blessing, as far as Carlotta was concerned. That was why she had killed Arachne after all. The girl didn't deserve the Hunger Games. She deserved a quick and painless death, and to have someone she considered a friend whispering reassurances the whole time.

No. That wasn't why she had killed Arachne. It was to make a point not to trust anyone. To cement to the Capitol that she was dangerous and willing to kill anyone, even a sweet thirteen year old.

Carlotta rubbed her forehead irritably. The trouble with being a talented liar was, sometimes she didn't know what was the truth, and what was the lie.

"Uh…thank you." Ruben said, breaking into her thoughts once more, "But I think I'm just... going to…"

He didn't bother to finish his sentence. Instead he turned and ran off into the great black desert. Carlotta shrugged at the sudden exit. Good riddance.

She heard Anthracite scream. "Lucien? No!"

Carlotta had no time to process the sound or what it might mean before there was a sharp pain against one side of her skull. The force of the blow caused her entire body to collapse to the ground from underneath her. Looking up, her vision swam, but she could just make out the bleary image of Lucien standing over her. He was holding a small hammer in one hand, and she distantly wondered if he had found it in the cornucopia, during the bloodbath.

She should have seen it coming. There were only ever three paths.

"That was for Arachne." He said.

Carlotta laughed, "That little _bitch_? Oh, come on, Lucien! Are you really the kind of person with this intense district loyalty? Pathetic."

Lucien raised the hammer again, poised to kill her once and for all. But Carlotta could tell that he had underestimated her. The boy from Eight thought that she would remain disoriented from pain long enough for him to strike the killing blow. Her head was definitely spinning, and she could feel a trickle of blood running down the side of her head, that was certainly true. But pain was just a fact of life at the group home. She hadn't been there for years, but there were some things she knew she would never forget. One of those was how to keep going when every inch of her body was screaming at her to stop.

Instead of staying where she was, or trying to scoot backwards in the dirt and ash, Carlotta lunged up from the ground and charged directly into her attacker. Her shoulder made contact with Lucien's stomach, and this time, both of them fell to the ground. Lucien groaned as the wind was knocked out of him, unable to maintain his grip on the hammer. Carlotta had it in her hand in an instant, and stood up over Lucien, their positions now fully reversed.

"Not the face. Please!" Lucien begged.

There was no reason to respect his request. Carlotta wanted to smash his face in and keep on hitting until there was nothing left of the beautiful boy that was still recognizable. He would deserve it. Not for trying to kill her. She expected that in the Hunger Games. But for daring to pretend like the attempt had been about Arachne. As if this spoiled brat had cared even one _iota_ about that girl. As if he wouldn't have done the same given the opportunity. Carlotta hated hypocrites more than anything in the world.

Something stopped her from bashing his face in, and she wondered if this was the same something that forced her to keep company with Anthracite. It made her weak to feel this way, and she hated it. Worse than making her _feel _weak, however, she was certain that it made her vulnerable.

"As you wish." Carlotta said, then swung the hammer with all her might directly into the boy's knee. Lucien screamed, an ear-splitting shriek that she was sure could at least half the arena could hear.

Anthracite screamed, tool, covering her mouth in horror. "Why did you do that?"

"Because the careers are coming and we need to buy time. They'll deal with Lucien here and we'll be able to get away."

"You're a monster." Anthracite said, choking the words out, her eyes filled with the same realization that Carlotta had seen before. That terror that dawned when someone finally understood that she wasn't human like them.

"I am." Carlotta agreed, "But there's another monster heading this way. So which one do you want to take your chances with?"

Anthracite started to cry, but grabbed her bag,and obediently followed Carlotta out of the cave.

**Dash Grester, District Two**

Dash pulled his sword out of Lucien Narciso's body, and heard the cannon blast far off in the distance, followed by the much softer thud of the dead boy's corpse as it fell to the dirt beneath him. It was a little disturbing how easy all this was, especially how simple it was to take another person's life.

The boy from Eight had been one of the most popular models in all of Panem. Even though he was from an outer District, he modeled clothes both for his home district and for the Capitol. District Two was considered loyal enough that plenty of the Capitol's culture passed through Peacekeepers and tourists, making its way to them in bits and pieces.

When Dash had seen Lucien's reaping, it was not the first time he had seen him. A worn, old magazine that he kept under his bed featured several photos of the gorgeous District Eight model, clad in a variety of dazzling Capitol-designed outfits, winking at the camera as though he held some wonderful secret.

He was not exactly attracted to the boy. Dash was more than happy in his relationship with Porter, and aside from the photos, Lucien was a stranger to him personally. But his likeness had helped Dash come to terms with his own bisexuality. His beauty had been a comfort in difficult times.

Even dead, he was still beautiful. His body was crumpled, limbs splayed out at unnatural angles. But his face was peaceful. If Dash looked, he could swear he saw the beginnings of that secret smile which had captivated him so utterly.

There was a low sound, almost too low for Dash to pick up, and the ground began to gently shake. Black ash loosened and then parted, quickly sucking Lucien's serene body into the earth. Given the nature of the arena, Dash supposed, that was an easier way to grab the bodies than the usual method by hovercraft.

Standing alone in the cave, he wondered if he should continue his search for the boy he had originally been chasing or return to cornucopia instead. He heard another cannon and remembered what Elixane had said. This was supposed to be quick, she wanted it that way, so that the tributes who were outside of the Career pack had less time to piece together what was going on. He took one last look at the spot where Lucien's body had disappeared beneath the ash, startled by how smooth it appeared, as though it had never been disturbed at all. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he turned and made his way back towards the cornucopia.

The Pit which served as home base for the Careers was not very far from where he had come upon Lucien. Although the tunnel branched off into several complex and winding passages, Dash had predicted Ruben would be panicked, choosing the first path he came across. Unluckily for the boy from Eight, Dash turned out to be correct, and he supposed that whoever else had managed to kill a tribute was probably also lucky. Seeing how many paths there could be made Dash feel as though it would be difficult to find tributes without the guidance of Gamemaker or some other kind of incredible advantage. Then again, such guidance was common enough. It was standard practice for a tribute to be herded to other tributes, or to a more interesting part of the arena. Dash wouldn't be surprised if a couple well timed cave-ins helped one of his fellow Careers take the right path.

Since the path was a short one, and he was the first to mobilize, Dash wasn't surprised to find that he was also the first one to make it back. The Pit felt different, almost foreboding, without all of the other Careers around.

"Hey Seaward!" he shouted, "Did you get lonely without us?" The boy was still propped up against the same wall where the group had left him, and there was no response.

That _should_ have been perfectly understandable. Seaward slept quite a lot, thanks to his injuries. He had a job, technically, but Titania and Elixane had made sure that it was the least important one. Between the barricades, and Serena May watching the top of the pit, there was almost no way anyone could get through.

Yet the closer he got, the more certain he was that the second cannon had been for Seaward Waters.

**AN: Hello again! This chapter is a little faster than last time. Hopefully I can continue with that, I know everybody like fast updates. So a lot happened here, yeah? I apparently kill people very slowly. Second day, and only eight people have died. Speaking of that, it is time for obituaries.**

**18th, Lucien Narciso. This boy ended up with more depth than I think anyone expected of him. He was really starting to open his eyes to the world, and I liked writing him learning to care about other people and what was going on around him. I'm not sure this death was fair. But the Hunger Games isn't fair. I'm going to miss him. The arena is now going to be a lot less pretty.**

**17th, Seaward Waters. Also maybe an unfair death, since I teased it in the bloodbath. Then behold! He was alive. But behold! He's dead now. Lots of jerking people around. Maybe a bit like Seaward? It was nice to have a clown around, and the Careers are going to fill really empty without him. I mean the guy had a huge presence even when he was unconscious. He'll be greatly missed.**

**I am now instituting a Kill Count.**

**Dash Grester- Two Kills: Raleigh Ashven and Lucien Narciso**  
**Elixane Marcus- One Kill: Demetri Donovan**  
**Demetri Donovan- One Kill: Zella Waneta**  
**Titania Topaz- One Kill: Issa Monroe**  
**Carlotta Pierce- One Kill (and an assist?): Arachne Weber**  
**Seaward Waters- One Kill: Mattock Coccia**

**I'm not sure I have much else to say, except that the next chapter should come out pretty soon. Thank you so much for reading, and please review!**


	34. A Study in Ash

**Ashlar Granodum, District Three**

"I'm telling you, when I killed the Eight Boy, he sunk into the ground." Dash said, pacing back and forth anxiously.

"Maybe since there's a view of the sky here, they're sending a hovercraft." Elixane suggested. Every single member of the Career pack seemed unconvinced.

Nearly half an hour after Dash discovered Seaward's body, the group huddled around the corpse. It was still there, despite everyone agreeing that the Gamemakers should have taken him away by now. Instead, he remained in the Pit, face eternally frozen in an expression of agony.

"Maybe it's a sign." Diamond said, his voice quiet and thoughtful, as he crouched down to get a closer look at the dead boy.

"A sign of what?" Titania asked. Her district partner didn't answer right away, instead reaching out a hand to rummage through Seward's clothes, closely examining the body in a way none of them had felt comfortable doing so far. Dash stepped forward to object, but Titania stopped him just by raising a hand in the air. Eventually, her petite district partner grabbed a pair of tweezers from one of the first aid kits Serena May had left open nearby, and pulled something out from underneath Seaward's bandages with them.

"A sign that he didn't succumb to his injuries." Diamond answered at last, showing everyone a small, oozing white substance that could have been anything before it was smashed, "He was poisoned."

Ashlar was expecting gasps, or for someone to deny it, perhaps even a poignant silence falling over the group. Instead there were awkward murmurs and nothing else. Poison was just another aspect of the Hunger Games. Ashlar felt strange, admitting to himself that it was one of his favorite kinds of deaths to watch in the Games. There was real drama to it. Any killer who chose poison had to have incredibly close contact with the victim, and so poison took a lot more brains than brawn. He may have not been the smartest Three, but he was still a Three. He had to respect someone who could make poison work.

Except Seaward hadn't moved from the Pit since being injured, and the Careers were the ones who maintained control of the Cornucopia once the bloodbath was over. A small window in which everyone had split up to go down several different tunnels existed, but between the barricades and Serena May keeping watch, it was unlikely any of the outer district tributes would have been able to sneak inside the Pit. Even if they could manage that part, Seaward was armed with a bow, and had demonstrated he was still capable of using the weapon despite his injuries. No stranger would be able to get close enough to poison him.

"That would mean he was murdered." Ashlar said.

Titania looked at him quizzically, "Did you forget we're in the _Hunger Games_?"

Ashlar shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No. Hunger Games is killing. This… this was a betrayal. _This was one of us."_

"Or it was Serena May." Elixane said, her voice soft, but filled with hatred, "Instead of healing him, this whole time, she was feeding him poison."

Serena May stood off to the side of the group, closer to Titania than the rest of the Careers, separate from everyone despite the pack having accepted her presence for the most part. She gestured with her hands, the way she always did, and Ashlar didn't need to know sign language to know that it was a denial. He didn't believe her however.

It made sense, from an outer district point of view. The careers were clearly the biggest competition, and Serena May's status with the group grew more uncertain the longer she remained with them. It made his stomach feel better to believe this as well. There was a way the Games operated, an honor that those in District Seven wouldn't understand, couldn't possibly hold themselves up to. Ashlar and Elixane were both here to show that Three not only understood it, but that they deserved to call themselves Careers.

But that led him to an unsettling thought. What if Elixane was responsible for Seaward's murder? Poison was a very Three weapon, and the events from this morning gave her an awfully good reason to frame Serena May. Ashlar _assumed _that she was here for the same reason as he was, but perhaps that was a mistake. What if he was wrong? He wanted Serena May to be the killer. But feared that it could very well be Elixane.

"It's possible." Diamond said calmly, replying to Elixane's accusation, "But, given the state of his bandages, I doubt that it was her."

"The bandages?" Dash asked.

"Take a look." Diamond stepped aside, allowing the other careers to examine the body for themselves.

Ashlar found this to be an incredibly unpleasant experience. Usually, killing someone didn't mean you had to spend much time around the body, particularly, even more so when your weapon was a spear. He was fond of quick strikes to vulnerable areas, then moving on to the next threat. Investigation like this meant that he needed to get close to the corpse, the corpse of his friend, even. It turned his stomach, and Ashlar stepped away after only a few moments in order to vomit.

"I don't see anything." Dash said.

His own examination had been much shorter than the boy from Two, but Ashlar managed to see what Diamond was getting at even with only a few moments. He wished that the District One Career would just explain what he meant, instead of feeding them all pieces of information, bit by bit.

Then it hit him.

"You already know who did it, don't you?" Ashlar said it as more of a statement than a question, "You're just choosing to be dramatic about it like a...like a regular Sherlock Holmes."

"I would have gone with Poirot ." Elixane countered.

"Poirot is a good one, but I figured Holmes was a little more recognizable."

Elixane chuckled at that, nodding, evidently satisfied.

District Three's training center operated differently than he imagined any of the other Career facilities did. Pop culture, for example, was something he suspected no Career from Two was likely to understand, much less have it incorporated into their training.. But Ashlar had read so many mystery novels from before the dark days that he sometimes dreamt of himself, clad in a deerstalker cap, referring to Elixane by his side as 'Watson'.

Being reminded of these stories cast everything into a new light. The Capitol left Seaward's body out for them to find because they sensed the opportunity for this to be more than a typical murder; this was a genuine _murder mystery_. It seemed likely that the Gamemakers wanted them to figure things out, slowly putting the pieces together on live television, in the most dramatic and entertaining way possible.

Diamond must have caught on to this as well, somehow, because he had been acting _just_ like a detective from one of those novels Ashlar had spent so much time reading.

"The bandages," Diamond continued as if neither Ashlar or Elixane had spoken, "Are wrinkled where the poison was placed. As if they were pulled up, then smoothed back down. None of the other bandages are like that. They are smooth, put down right the first time. If it was Serena May who poisoned Seaward, she would have been much more likely to put the poison in _with_ the poultice, rather than inserting it at a later time."

"She still could have done it." Elixane protested.

"She could have, but it's unlikely." Ashlar said, realizing that Diamond didn't have to be the only one who noticed anything. It was easier if he thought of this as a game, as some sort of puzzle. All he had to do was pretend it wasn't Seaward who was dead, but a character from some long gone story. He could do that, probably. "So, if we rule out Serena May for the moment, let's remember that she was keeping watch at the top of the Pit. Which means that anyone with a padlock key could have come in, placed the poison, then walked back into their tunnel."

"Dash was the first one here, he found the body. That means it could have been him." Elixane said.

"It could. Or the killer could have doubled back." Ashlar was racking his brain, trying to figure out who it was, what clues he could use to bring everything into the light. He was desperate to solve this mystery, to find the traitor among them.

"Can we cut it out with all of this detective crap? All we're doing is turning on each other." Titania said, "Do we want an outer district to win? Because that's where things are headed right now."

Diamond approached Titania, and whispered something into her ear. Ashlar couldn't make it out, but he saw the boy from One motioning to Seaward's body, then turning his gaze towards one of the cameras set up by the Gamemakers. Titania crossed her arms, clearly displeased, but nodded.

"Unfortunately there's something you're overlooking." Diamond told Ashlar.

"What is that?"

"The poison."

Ashlar wasn't sure whether to gasp or sigh. As a master of poisons, Diamond probably knew what he held in between those tweezers the moment he raised it off of Seaward's still frame. But that perpetual smirk on the Career from One's face was beginning to wear on his nerves.

"Well, what _about_ the poison, then?"

"It's called Wintersbane." Diamond explained, "It's a poison I'm quite familiar with in fact. One of the advantages of Wintersbane is that it is slow acting. It would take eight to ten hours to kill someone with this."

Ashlar swore internally. If what Diamond said was true, his entire timeline was wrong, based on the speed of the poison alone. "Meaning Seaward was dosed last night. Any one of us could have done it."

"Anyone who was able to actually _get_ the poison." Titania pointed out, having seemed to come on board with the mystery solving aspect of the situation, albeit begrudgingly, "There was nothing like that in any of the cornucopia supplies. I made a full inventory."

"More importantly, wintersbane only grows in damp areas. There is no way it would have been found in this arena. However, _I_ did happen to use it during my private session. Most likely, the wintersbane was a gift from a sponsor."

Ashlar tried to process everything Diamond had said. If the wintersbane had been a sponsor gift, then there would have been a golden parachute. Ashlar and Elixane had spent the whole time together in the Pit. If someone had sent her a gift, he was sure to have noticed.

Every muscle in his body relaxed- which was a surprise, since Ashlar hadn't even noticed they were so tense- when he concluded that it couldn't be his district partner. It was a relief to know there was someone he could still trust, and that that someone was Elixane. When he turned, instinctively, to look at her, he found she met his gaze and smiled slightly back at him. She must have had the same suspicions about him.

Titania and Dash hadn't gone anywhere either, since Serena May had been discovered closer than they expected she would be, and the search had taken no exploration at all. That meant that only two people were even capable of receiving a sponsorship without the others knowing: Diamond and Cordelia.

Ashlar grabbed Diamond by the collar before he was even aware of his own movement. "_Is all of this just a game to you_?" He snarled, "Leading us through this mystery bit by bit, telling us information only you would know. Poison is your specialty, right? All of a sudden, surprised! Someone has died of poison, and only one person besides you doesn't have an alibi."

"Well, they are called the Hunger Games." Diamond said. He didn't look like someone who had just been accused of murder. He was deadly calm, a smile just barely twitching at the corners of his lips.

"Why did you do it?" Ashlar asked.

"Listen, Ashlar. You're clearly very smart. I would be thinking that I was the one who had murdered Seaward, too, at this point. The only reason I know I'm innocent is because I know where I was last night. And since we've established that there are only two possible culprits...well.. I suppose that doesn't sound too convincing, though."

Ashlar couldn't believe it. He was going to pretend to be innocent, after proving just how easily it would have been for him to be the culprit? Spreading breadcrumbs of information to entice everyone down a series of logical, twisting paths, instead of telling everyone what he already knew. If he expected them to believe something so outrageous, how could it be anyone _but _Diamond? Unless…

"He's telling the truth." Dash chimed in, his voice even more monotonous from the shock of revelation. In the midst of Ashlar's assault on Diamond, Dash had made his way to the sleeping area. He was standing near Cordelia's sleeping bag with a golden parachute in one hand and a note in the other.

"Cordelia," Dash read from the note, "He's holding you back and you know it. Do what needs to be done. -M."

Ashlar released his grip on Diamond, and everyone's gaze slowly shifted from Dash, to where Cordelia stood near the stairwell, her arms crossed and eyes darting wildly between all of the others. It was a wonder no one had seen her getting closer to the exit. Then again, she seemed to have a talent for adjusting how much attention anyone gave her, he thought. During the parade, Cordelia had been one of the most talked about Tributes of them all. She shined with the kind of energy few could replicate. It was the same way with her interviews, when she descended from the rafters like some sort of angel, and captivated everyone the entire time, even after she hit the ground.

Yet whenever she and Ashlar shared the same space, it was difficult to even remember Cordelia was there. She would slip in and out of conversations like an eel, present enough, but saying nothing of real substance. He realized at that moment that he didn't really know this girl, had no idea what her opinions were, her likes and dislikes, who she really was. She was like him, a social chameleon, showing everyone only what they needed to see.

It was an unfortunate moment to realize how much they were alike, since Cordelia had just been revealed to have murdered her own district partner.

"Seaward told me a story about you once." Titania said, taking a few slow steps towards the girl from Four, "How you gave a rival of yours laxatives in order to practice alone longer. It's not your first time using poisons, is it?"

Cordelia climbed up one of the steps, but Diamond cleared his throat. His darts were somehow already out, and he twiddled them around in his fingers, the tips wet from one of his _own _poisons. That stopped Cordelia from moving any further up the stairs.

"Why?" Ashlar repeated, "It makes even less sense from you. He was your partner."

"He was dead the minute he fell off these stairs." Cordelia said, "We all know it. Even if Serena May could get him back on his feet, he wasn't going to fully recover. Which meant he wasn't going to win. We were wasting resources on him. We should have killed him then. We shouldn't have recruited Serena May. And we definitely shouldn't have let the boy from Ten go. All of Titania's decisions so far have been ruinous. She's too soft and clearly attached to her pet Seven. I had to do something."

"So. Instead of talking to me, you just came up with an overly complicated frame job." Titania deadpanned.

Cordelia shrugged. "I'm bad at conflict."

Lightning fast, Titania reached out and grabbed Cordelia's arm, throwing her to the ground. In a flash, she had a spear from the side of the Pit in her grip, and thrust it down towards the other Career. Cordelia managed to narrowly roll out of the way, and grabbed a spear of her own.

The fight was brief but vicious. Cordelia moved through the Pit like a dancer, using a series of complicated feints and jabs that were dizzying to behold. Ashlar could barely keep track of her and suspected this to be the reason none of the others attempted to interfere in the fight.

Yet Titania matched her speed and skill at every turn. She was less flashy, more precise. But every single blow landed with purpose. Suddenly Titania feinted, then used the butt of her spear to knock Cordelia down once more. A moment later, the tip was against the girl's throat.

"So, you think I'm soft, huh?" Titania whispered, quiet but full of malice. Ashlar didn't hear the words so much as he felt them,in the form of a dark shiver running down the length of his spine. "I could kill you right now. No one here would stop me. A few of them would applaud me, even. So I bet right about now you're hoping I'm as soft as you think I am."

Titania suddenly addressed Diamond without turning her head, the spear never let up from her victim's throat, and her frightening glare locked in direct eye contact with Cordelia the entire time. "Diamond. What do you think? That poison was meant to implicate you. Are you so forgiving?"

"And what about you, Pet?" Serena May glanced up, clearly paying close attention the entire time. "She was so eager to see us turn against you. So willing to end both of your lives. Why don't the two of _you_ decide her fate?"

Diamond and Serena May shared an uncertain glance. Serena May signed her response, but he shook his head, motioning to the ash below them. They wrote to each other for a minute or two, before Diamond stood up and faced Titania again.

"She betrayed our trust, set us against each other, attempted to overthrow the balance of the pack." Diamond said, "But…it seems hypocritical to punish someone for killing in the Hunger Games. Kick her out of the alliance. Allow her only what supplies she has now, except for the key to the padlock. If we ever see her again, we treat her like we would any other tribute."

Titania nodded, then held out her hand. Cordelia reached to take it, only for Titania to pull back.

"The key." She said, and Ashlar thought he could hear a snarl behind the words. She held out her hand a second time, and Cordelia rummaged through her pockets for a moment before relinquishing the small silver key that belonged to one of the padlocks on the barricades.

Titania placed the key in her pocket, then stepped back a few feet to give Cordelia the chance to stand. She did so, turning towards the stairs. At first she took them slowly, climbing the first few steps one at a time, but soon she was sprinting the rest of the way up. When she had disappeared from the Pit entirely, Titania spoke again, this time to the entire group.

"Anyone who wants to join her can." she proclaimed, "Because from now on, there will be no questions. No attacks on my authority. You are my pack, and mine alone. If anyone has a problem with that, I'll give you this one chance to say so and remain breathing."

Silence. Ashlar was certain that no one would move. But, after only a few seconds, Elixane stepped forward and placed her key in Titania's hand.

"Come with me." She said, turning to face Ashlar, without so much as a word for Titania.

"What?"

"This alliance is too big, and we're never going to be more than second string with them. Come with me."

"Cordelia murdered someone. Her own district partner."

"It was a mercy killing. Do you really think that Seaward would have done anything except get us all killed?"

"I still don't trust someone who would do that."

"I'm not asking you to trust her. I'm asking you to trust me."

Ashlar could feel the eyes of everyone in the cave burning through him. Like Cordelia, he was not good with conflict. He went along with others, he smiled, he kept his head down. But right now, he didn't have the luxury of going with the flow. He had to make a choice, and whatever he did would have consequences. What it really came down to was whether or not he trusted Elixane over the other Careers.

He stepped forward and gave Titania his key.

She lifted Ashlar's chin up and met his gaze directly. He had expected the same terrifying hatred she had directed at Cordelia, but instead, all he saw was sadness, perhaps even a little regret. Was he making the wrong choice?

No. He was choosing District Three. That would always be the right decision.

"I want you both to know." Titania said, "You may be our enemies now, but in my eyes, District Three will always have a place among the Careers."

"Thank you." Ashlar responded sincerely. Then, he turned, and began to climb the steps towards an uncertain future.

**AN: So, this is a bit of a weird chapter. Hopefully a good weird. I decided very early on that I was going to do a murder mystery, and it's thrilling that I finally got to it. This also leads us to the careers splitting into two groups (which I have been calling the Exiles and the Rainbow Alliance because I am ridiculous).**

**So I guess we update the kill count now?**

**Dash Grester- Two kills, Raleigh and Lucien**

**Elixane Marcus- One kill, Demetri  
Demetri Donovan- One kill, Zella**

**Titania Topaz- One kill, Issa**

**Carlotta Pierce- One and a half kills, Arachne**

**Seaward Waters- One kill, Mattock**

**Cordelia Korver- One kill, Seaward**

**Please please** _**please**_ **review this one. Because I need to know if you liked it or not, and if you enjoyed me sort of experimenting with formats. Anyway, thank you so much!**


	35. Fire and Water

**Violet Beckingridge, District Eleven**

Counting just how many cannons had fired so far, how many tributes were dead, was quickly growing harder and harder. Violet consciously reminded herself, sitting alone at her small camp-site, that who was left alive in the Games was important information for her to know. She couldn't be ignorant, she couldn't forget who she was up against, the number of people she would need to beat in order to get back home.

The realization was still chilling to her after everything that had come so far, all of the bloodshed she had seen. Knowing that she would need to outlast twenty-three others her own age, in order to see her family again.

But things happened for a reason, and they happened through good, old fashioned hard work. Violet was capable of getting through this, she could feel it in her gut. So she was going to have to remember just how many people had died so far.

Two cannons earlier in the day. No wait, she thought maybe, there had been three. They were close together but Violet could distinctly remember three different blasts. Five people had died the night before, so that put the death count up to eight. The Games were a third of the way over. When she thought of it that way, everything felt a little more doable.

Violet hadn't seen any other tributes for quite some time, which she found strange. Her camp, small and well made, was constructed on the banks of one of the arena's quiet lakes. Sources of water were precious in an arena this hot, so when she had first found it, she had been cautious. But when no one came near, after some time, she got bolder. She had even gone so far as to build a shelter out of the dark black wood strewn around the base of the volcano.

The volcano itself was fairly ominous, black and towering, so covered in ash that at first glance the only difference between it and the dunes was size. It was only with a second look that Violet had seen the faint smoke up top and the occasional flash of bronze where magma had not yet cooled completely. There were dead trees in the hundreds, and blackened stones, littering the base in uneven patterns. At some point it was sure to erupt. The gamemakers would never have put a volcano in the arena without some grand plan for it. Perhaps that was why the other tributes had avoided it so far. But Violet was confident that it wouldn't go off quite this early in the Games. This made it the safest place to be at the moment, and so Violet had doubled back towards the landmark after the bloodbath.

But several hours had passed without a cannon going off. The three that had occured since she awoke had happened in the morning, when the sun was not too hot to move around in. Most likely the other tributes were hiding from the sun just like Violet was, either in shelters, or else hidden in one of the caves she had seen entrances into dotting the arena.

Violet didn't trust those caves enough to set up camp in them. Every arena had animals, both prey to be eaten, and predator mutts meant to torment the tributes. She didn't want to take her chances with one of the latter. She had made a trap, though, which she set outside one of the caves closest to her camp, as well as another close to the lake, hoping to capture animals who came to drink from it. Additionally, she managed to piece together a water purifier, and a small campfire that she had successfully used to roast a rabbit earlier in the morning. It was a good setup, a place she could survive for some time, and she was proud of herself for the achievement.

Not that it could last. Violet knew that the moment things started to grow boring, the Gamemakers would find a way to uproot her from her haven and into the path of other tributes. She was prepared for that too. Moving the water purifier and even her traps would be relatively simple. She had enough bags that she could carry what she needed. And, in case she found herself crossing paths with another tribute… well, she had put together a bow herself for that.

Violet doubted that she was a particularly interesting tribute to watch. But interesting wasn't going to get her home. Ingenuity and work ethic would do that.

There came a rustle outside of her tent. Grabbing her bow, she braved the hot afternoon sun in order to investigate, and saw nothing at first glance. Somehow that was even more disturbing than if she had seen something terrible. All of the tributes wore green outfits, standing out brightly amidst the dark desert ash, and there were not enough trees to properly hide behind.

Yet Violet didn't see any animals either, no birds or distant rabbits or even a stray bug. But something wasn't right, the wind felt dangerous, and in a moment she saw why. The ash around the lake began to swirl into a small cyclone. It circled up into the air and building up onto itself, forming a great ash figure, an amorphous shape that quickly grew into something more defined. A deafening screech echoed across the ashy dunes as two jet black wings took shape. The ash took flight and cast its enormous shadow directly over Violet.

Flying high above her was a large, ashen phoenix.

There was no time for hesitation. Violet drew her bow, aimed, and shot an arrow towards the bird's chest. She heard a whizzing sound as it went straight through, opening a hole which quickly filled once more with ash, serving only to anger the great beast.

Violet realized her folly instantly: the mutt wasn't entirely tangible. It was made of ash, and as she saw a deep orange flash inside of the impressive frame, she suspected fire as well. A simple arrow would do nothing against that. She had to come up with a different means of stopping the creature. The Ash Phoenix was too large to run away from, already swooping down towards her, ready to snatch her up off the ground in talons that looked solid enough to hurt _her_ the way her arrow had failed to hurt _it._

Her eyes drifted downwards, to the placid lake just a few meters away.

The Ash Phoenix let out a second wrathful cry, but Violet paid it no mind, darting straight into the lake just in time to send the beast's claws scrabbling into the ground viciously. She stopped only once she was waist deep. Tipping backwards slightly, she doused her quiver in water, notched another arrow, and fired.

This time, there was a sizzle as the arrow flew through the creature's not-quite-flesh, and a plume of steam billowed out as if it were blood. Violet launched another arrow, then another. She fired six in total before the great bird let out one more keening shriek and fell towards the lake.

Not knowing what would happen when the creature made contact with a body of water that large, she began to run, and was almost safely to the shore when the Ash Phoenix landed with a sharp crash. A mixture of water and scalding hot steam hit her from behind, knocking the girl several feet forward through the air. The steam ate at her skin, she could feel it, could see a series of bright red patches forming on her arms. Violet screamed.

But the steam dissipated, and it was all over. The lake was shallower than it had been when she got here, but there was still enough water for it to be called a proper lake. Stray pieces of ash hung in the air, the only remaining sign of the mutt.

Message received: Violet had stayed in one spot for far too long. Limping back to her shelter, fighting against the pain, she began to pack up her camp.

**Nettie Sue Monroe, District Nine**

"So, there are underground tunnels." Nettie Sue said.

"Yes." Rust answered.

"But we're... not going to use them."

"That's right."

"Why not? It's not like we can move around in this god awful heat."

"Exactly." Rust was growing more confident the further he was from the jeering and scorn of District Nine. Nettie Sue had always known the boy was smart, but he was beginning to know it too, lately. She found this new version of him more than a little bit insufferable, but also charming, impressed with his moxie, "We can't move around, but no one else can either."

"Unless they use the tunnels." Nettie Sue shot back.

"Tunnels that are bound to be narrow, and lead to common areas where there is a greater chance of fighting." Rust explained, "The arena's built to maximize combat. Either brave the heat and the open dunes, with no camouflage, or risk bumping into each other in the underground tunnels."

"You've just got this _whole_ thing figured out, don't you?" she said. It was a little strange to tease him, as if they were back home in District Nine. As if they were talking about fending off kids who wanted to steal their lunch rather than ones who would gut them from the neck down if given half the chance.

Rust blushed, and for a moment Nettie Sue remembered just how young he was. Sure, she was only a couple years older than him herself. But there was a world of difference between fourteen and sixteen. It made her scared of the eighteen year old careers, who had far more than just combat training going for them.

"I mean, not entirely." Rust admitted, "But...well I figure almost everyone will adapt to a certain schedule. Run around the dunes at dawn and dusk, use the tunnels in the day, sleep at night."

"And you're saying we _shouldn't_ do that."

"Exactly. I think we should move around at night."

Nettie Sue rolled that around her brain for a moment. There was promise to the idea. The color of their outfits wouldn't be as obvious in the dark, and most of the other tributes would be asleep or hiding out in caves to stay safe from the cold.

"The cold could be a problem." She thought out loud.

"Except we have the blanket." he pointed to the silver thermal blanket that they had obtained during the bloodbath.

Another issue occurred to her. "We also need to be able to see." she said, and Rust furrowed his brow.

The bloodbath had not yielded very much for them in terms of picking items up from the cornucopia. Nettie Sue only managed to grab a fanny pack, which was where they originally found the blanket, and Rust had obtained a rucksack with three empty bottles and a small pocket knife. Earlier in the morning they had travelled across the dunes and picked up a few other things: rocks, some dry black wood that fell off the only tree they came across, a small collection of cacti that Rust removed the spines from (he promised her these were edible.) But none of their meager supplies would help them to navigate the arena while outside. Until they could figure out how to _survive_ in their own way, they were stuck adhering to the same schedule as everyone else.

But then Nettie Sue had an idea. Not a great one, exactly, and not guaranteed to work. Under the conditions they found themselves, however, it was all they had.

"Have you ever thought about killing someone?" she asked.

Rust looked at her for once, surprised, "Of course. I want to win. Don't you?" he asked.

"I mean before the Hunger Games. Have you ever wanted to kill someone when it wasn't about survival?"

Rust stayed silent, so Nettie Sue just kept going.

"I have."

Her district partner's eyes grew wide, and Nettie Sue could have sworn she saw him scoot back a few inches. "Why?" he asked.

"The more important question in this story is 'who'." She answered, "And the answer is… my father."

"Oh." Rust said. He relaxed slightly, no longer alarmed. But Nettie Sue still saw confusion in his eyes. That was all right. She didn't need him to catch on immediately, though she hoped he would before too long.

"He would deserve it." She told him, matter-of-fact, but her throat felt painfully tight.

"I don't know if anyone deserves to die," Rust pondered, "But if anyone does...I'm sorry for not doing anything, or telling someone. I justified myself by saying that I didn't know. But I did on some level."

Nettie Sue appreciated the apology, but such things didn't seem quite as important as thiey used to. "I remember one night. He was drunk, like usual, Mom was sober for once though. But you wouldn't know it, by the way they were fighting. They were going at it for hours, and I was getting hungry. So... I started to cook myself some dinner."

Nettie Sue stopped. Telling the tale was harder than she had been expecting. The past couldn't hurt her, not really, and it could maybe even help her through the horror of the Games. People, she reasoned, loved sad stories. They loved seeing those prone to tragedy overcome and win for once. Her past might be the greatest weapon she had in this arena.

But that didn't make it easy to talk about.

"Was this when you were gone from school for three weeks?" Rust asked softly, "Principal Magnus told everybody the stove had faulty wiring or something? They told us you got in an accident."

"Yeah. 'Cause that's what _I_ told people."

The two of them sat quietly for a moment. Rust seemingly lost in thought, and Nettie Sue because she didn't think she could bear to say any more. Eventually, Rust found the words to break the silence.

"I never met my biological father." Rust said, "He was dead before I was even born. The only thing I know about him is what he did. So I can't really bring myself to hate him. It's like hating a ghost. Sometimes I hate other people. The kids at school who bully me. The adults who turn their heads when I walk down the street. But I never let myself think about killing them. If I did that, I would be exactly what they think I am."

They talked for a while after tha, although it was purposely about lighter topics. Eventually Nettie Sue heard a faint beeping noise coming from beside her. She turned her head, and saw a small hole open in the wall of the cave eight to ten feet above their heads. A small tube shot out, unfurling a golden parachute and floating gently to the ground in front of Nettie Sue's feet.

Her plan worked.

"What is it?" Rust asked, as Nettie Sue unscrewed the cap from the tube, letting it clatter to the floor of the cave. Inside, she found a small, hand-crank flashlight. She had seen peacekeepers use things like it from time to time. It would make noise, and the light might attract some attention. But the device was still probably worth a fortune.

"This should help us see out there." She told Rust, grinning, and her district partner nodded, "So what do we do now?"

"The only thing we can do I suppose." she said. "We wait."

**Tesla Nichols, District Five**

Elsewhere in the arena, a now familiar beeping sound informed Tesla that her latest sponsorship gift was on the way. She looked up, just in time to reach out with one hand and catch it. Inside was a sandwich, an apple, and a small cup of juice. She took the meal to a nearby tree, sitting down against it, and ate happily. It was hot out in the direct path of the arena's artificial sun overhead. But the numerous trees of the forest blocked most of its rays, allowing her relative freedom to walk around and explore.

In addition to the meal, which was not the first that had been sent, Tesla had also received a pair of binoculars to spot any danger and a wide brimmed hat which kept the sun from hurting her too badly. She wasn't entirely sure what she had done that was impressive enough to be getting so many sponsor gifts, but she did appreciate them.

A part of her suspected that people merely felt sorry for her. All of Panem knew that her name was pulled from the reaping bowl on purpose. Perhaps this was their way of showing their condolences.

Except that didn't feel quite right. In many ways, it felt stranger than the possibility that she had done something personally. Tesla was young, but she didn't think she was particularly stupid. The Capitol were very careful with their messaging. Anything that could be seen as rebellious was filtered out, especially during the Games. If people were truly attempting to keep her alive in protest of the President's plot, whoever ran the sponsorship program would have cut it off.

So, why hadn't she been cut off yet? Thinking about it weighed heavily on Tesla. Not even two full days were past, and Tesla was just finishing up her seventh sponsor gift. Perhaps it was best _not_ to think about it.

"Thank you!" She said, turning to a nearby camera, attempting to keep her expression and tone as cheery as possible. The longer she stayed in the forest, the easier that was. Tesla was not exactly happy in the Games, but she was safe. That was all she could ask for at the moment.

Without warning,a droplet of water fell right down onto the top of her head. She looked up, but the sky looked completely clear, not even clouds to break up the harsh, unending blue. Another drop fell, however, this one splashing straight into Tesla's wide open eye. Standing up from her position by the tree, annoyed and alarmed, she scanned the trees for the source of the phantom rain.

One of the trees nearby was leaking. This happened on occasion, especially with trees that Tesla used her spile on. But she couldn't help the feeling of uneasiness welling up in her stomach. Something was wrong, even if she couldn't understand what it was just yet.

A splatter on the back of her neck caused Tesla to turn and see that another tree was beginning to leak as well. The drips were slow at first, but steadily, they became a light downpour all on their own. More and more of the trees were beginning to expel their water as well, making it feel like it was raining despite the perfectly empty sky.

Tesla wasn't sure if she should be alarmed or delighted by this turn of events. Mostly she felt uncertain and relieved. The water was cool on such a hot day, and it fell gently down, causing a pleasant sensation on her skin.

Then she remembered where she was. Nothing was delightful in the Hunger Games. The better things seemed, the more likely it was that it would kill her. Without any reason to do so, she grabbed everything from her small cache of supplies that would fit in her bag and ran. The miniature rainshower followed, and the water that had already fallen moved with her as if pulled by an unseen force. It began to speed up, running in little rivulets along the ground that made movement difficult for her. Once most of the water was firmly in front of Tesla, it began to gather together until a shimmering many headed serpent blocked her path.

With a hiss that greatly resembled the sound of steam whistling sharply out of a pot, one of the mighty hydra's heads ferociously lunged towards Tesla. She ducked, and the creature hit a tree directly behind her instead. There was a great crack, and the tree toppled to the ground, two great gashes left behind by the beast's fangs, digging deep into the bark.

Tesla didn't have time to think. She turned in the opposite direction and ran as fast as she could. Even when she could no longer hear the sound of flowing water, she kept running. Even as her lungs began to burn and ache as if they would explode in her chest. She wanted to run forever. Perhaps if she just kept running she would run straight out of the arena.

Unfortunately, her body gave out before that happened.

She fell face first into the ash, the heat burning her cheek. But she couldn't move any more, even as she heard a rustling from somewhere in the forest around her. Tesla sank into unconsciousness slowly, but before everything went black, she heard the piercing voice of a young girl.

"Another one? God damn it how does this keep happening to me?"

**AN: This was supposed to be a slow chapter. Really. I thought it would just be chilling around waiting for the sun to go down. But this is better I think. Also there are no deaths, so I guess it was still technically a slow chapter. I'll put down the kill count anyway.**

**Dash Grester- Two kills, Raleigh and Lucien**

**Elixane Marcus- One kill, Demetri  
Demetri Donovan- One kill, Zella**

**Titania Topaz- One kill, Issa**

**Carlotta Pierce- One and a half kills, Arachne**

**Seaward Waters- One kill, Mattock**

**Cordelia Korver- One kill, Seaward**

**So we got to see some mutts! There are not many of them in this arena, but I would like to think they are very cool. What did you think about them? Let me know, and thanks for reading!**


	36. Lives Gone By

**Anthracite Amber Weitz, District Twelve**

"Anthracite! Get your dumb ass over here, I need your help."

Carlotta's venomous shouting, much to Anthracite's chagrin, was a more common fixture of their time together than she cared for. Still, some part of her appreciated the girl from Ten. Nothing quite made sense after Mattock's death. Her mind seemed perpetually blanketed in a dull fog circling the same few thoughts again and again. She shouldn't have lived past him. It should have been her who had died. Yet here she was, alive but not quite living. Only Carlotta could ever manage to startle her back to reality.

Anthracite wasn't entirely sure how she felt about her unexpected companion. Everything she saw made her think that Carlotta was a monster, one of those cruel broken people who wanted nothing more than to see the world burn around them. But if that was true, why would someone like that spare her life? Why had the other girl seemed so fixated on Demetri's death?

And why had she apparently brought a young girl, the same age as the one she'd killed in the bloodbath, into their shelter?

The forest was a refreshing change of scenery from the ashy dunes and musty caves of the arena, cooler in temperature, and with more places to hide. While Carlotta was gone, she had instructed Anthracite to construct a lean-to, a task which she had numbly accomplished entirely on autopilot. She was busy trying to will her body to do something else when Carlotta returned, dragging an unconscious child inside.

"_Anthracite!_ Seriously for once in your life be useful!"

Anthracite moved, looking over at the new arrival, who was unconscious. It was the girl from Five: the child who had gotten a One during her Gamemaker's session. Her brown hair stuck wetly to her scalp, reminding Anthracite a little bit of her brother Bran, who couldn't be more than a year older than this girl. Remembering family in the arena was difficult, especially since Mattock had taken up so many of her thoughts. Thinking of Bran brought her to reality, much like Carlotta's harsh words often did. She crouched down to see how she could help. As she did so, she watched Carlotta's hands dip into one of Tesla's bags.

"Are you… looting her?" Anthracite asked.

Carlotta shrugged, "Might as well. Girl's as good as dead, isn't she? Why does someone who got a one have so many donations?"

"People like an underdog."

"She's not an underdog." Carlotta sneered, "You're an underdog. She's just a walking corpse."

Anthracite was about to call Carlotta a monster again, but her depression had lifted enough for her to pay closer attention than usual. One of Carlotta's hands was looking through pouches, yes. But the other hand was on Tesla's neck, tracking her pulse. Every once in a while Carlotta would stop rummaging and lean down, testing for breathing.

Carlotta wasn't looting the body at all. She was looking for something that might save her.

"There it is." The girl from Ten said, pulling out a first aid kit, a golden parachute still attached to it. She opened the box up, ran her finger across several of the items, then stabbed a syringe into the young girl's neck in one fluid motion.

Anthracite shrieked.

"Oh, fucking stop that. She needs to be hydrated." Carlotta said, throwing Anthracite a water bottle, "Or we could just let her die. Probably the better option."

Anthracite opened the bottle and tipped some liquid down the girl's throat, careful not to pour too fast. It surprised even her, how little she hesitated following the other girl's instructions. "Is that why you killed Arachne? Because it was the 'better option?'"

"No." Carlotta spat back, far too fiercely, "But that was an added bonus I suppose. Are you really judging me, Twelve? You have been asking to die for over a day now."

It was true. Anthracite was critical of her companion's casual attitude towards death, but she couldn't say she was much better. Would she be better off having died at the bloodbath? It was something to think about.

Or maybe she was just trying to humanize Carlotta so that staying near her was easier. Like it or not, Carlotta was the one person keeping Anthracite alive right now. So perhaps it would be better to find comfort in that.

"Do you think she's going to be alright?" Anthracite asked.

"Hard to say. She ran way past her endurance level. But there's no real injuries, so it should be a matter of rest. If we don't kill her right now. Which we could. The girl doesn't have a shot. You know she doesn't."

Carlotta was probably right. Anthracite didn't know what the girl from Five had done in her private sessions, but all signs indicated she wasn't equipped to be a survivor. But that didn't mean she was going to murder her. A realization dawned on her, however, and she turned to look at Carlotta.

"You want us to take her in." Anthracite said.

"No I don't. One more mouth to feed? I'm already pulling your sorry ass around."

"Yes you do." she rebutted, "You want _me_ to defend her so that you can grumble about it and still keep your bad girl image. But you want to help her as much as I do."

"What you're doing right now is called projecting." Carlotta said, sneering, but her shoulders lost some of their tension, "But if you're going to go through all of this song and dance, I guess we can keep her. If nothing else, because she's got all this water."

Anthracite ignored her ally and instead looked over at Tesla. Something strange was happening, cutting through her deep cloud of mourning.

At some point today, Anthracite Amber Weitz decided that she wanted to live.

**Cordelia Korver, District Four**

If Cordelia were forced to give the tributes from District Three any credit at all, it would be that they were fairly difficult to shake.

Cordelia wasn't entirely certain why she was being followed, and she had no desire to find out. In the hours since she was unceremoniously ejected from the Career pack she made her way through the caves, weaving in and out, carefully considering her path. Sometimes she went into the tunnel system. Sometimes she doubled back. Sometimes she even took her chances in the wide open dunes.

Yet they were still behind her. She could hear their footsteps plodding steadily against the stone floor of her latest refuge, a cave barely bright enough to see her hands in front of her, without a flashlight. She heard them stop for a moment, murmuring to each other, before Ashlar's voice echoed through the darkness.

"Can you please just stop, for one second, and hear us out?"

She wasn't expecting to hear them plead for anything. Cordelia wasn't entirely sure why the two of them were following her, but she was pretty certain that Titania sent them to kill her. Sending them out as assassins would allow Diamond and Serena May to believe their leader was merciful while ensuring the girl from One eliminated another rival. It's what she would have done.

But if they were trying to kill her, why call out and announce their presence? Was it some kind of trick? The pair might be trying to become Careers, but they were still Threes. It would be just like a Three to offer peace if only to get the dagger closer.

If it was really just a murder attempt, though, why would they follow her for so long? One life wasn't worth wasting so many hours hunting for, even a life as dangerous as Cordelia's. The sun was setting, the anthem would start to play soon. The pair should have started their return to the Pit.

"Why aren't you going back to the Pit?" she asked. The question sounded silly out loud, almost petulant. But she couldn't ask any of her other questions, like how they planned on killing her. That was just too confrontational.

"Oh for god's sake Cordelia," came Elixane's exasperated reply. "We're not going back to the Pit because we left the careers to join you. Which you would know if you stopped even _once_ in the past few hours to let us talk to you, instead of leading us halfway around the arena."

That confused her even more. Elixane and Ashlar left the careers? Why would anyone leave the Career pack? Everyone knew how tremendous the advantage was in being a member of that group, and for the tributes from District Three, that alliance should have been especially important. The only reason Cordelia had left was because they had forced her out instead of thanking her for finally getting rid of the dead weight.

No one was behaving the way Cordelia expected lately. Maybe that was a sign that she needed to work a little less on forethought. Perhaps she would listen to the Threes, if only for a moment. She could give them enough rope to hang themselves with.

Because, though she hated to admit it even to herself, she really didn't want to be alone.

"Come a little closer, I won't leave this time." She said, "That's not saying that I believe you. But this would be easier, and safer too, if we aren't yelling back and forth between tunnels."

Cordelia heard a few rustling sounds, the scuffle of footsteps, and then Ashlar and Elixane came into view at the opening to her tunnel.

"Hey." Ashlar said.

"Hey." Cordelia said back. She wasn't sure what else there was to say. For a moment they stood there, she and the pair of Threes, their muscles still taut in case a fight broke out. As disparaging as her thoughts had been before, Cordelia had to admit that they carried themselves like careers.

"I thought about it, you know." Elixane admitted, "Seaward was just holding us back."

Cordelia nodded. Elixane probably saw the opportunity to be a leader and took it. That made sense to her. That was a motive she could get behind. And of course Ashlar would follow after her. Their bond was tight. Once again, Cordelia felt a sting of jealousy thinking about the way the Threes operated. She forced herself to chase the thoughts away and focus on her two potential allies.

Thinking of them as potential allies already took her by surprise. Doing so tread on dangerous ground. But Cordelia was not a leader and she knew it. She could make do on her own, but complicated strategy eluded her. Elixane was competent, and in a smaller group than before, they might all have a chance to shine. It helped that she found Ashlar to be pleasant company. He was quiet, same as her. She didn't trust either of them. But she wasn't sure she trusted anybody.

"How do I know you're not going to double cross me?" Cordelia asked. It was a valid question, though she was surprised she managed to ask it. Too likely to start an argument. Cardelia hated arguments. But it would be foolish to even talk to them without some assurance.

"I brought something." Elixane said, "A token of good faith."

The girl from Three took off her hat and fished something out of it. Evidently this was something even Ashlar had been unaware of before, as he looked over, lips parting in surprise. His district partner placed the object into Cordelia's hand, and she felt the rough texture of old parchment against her palm. Gently she unrolled the so-called 'gift.'

It was a map. Clearly labeled in the center was the Pit, with cave and tunnel entrances, underground pathways, and major landmarks both above and below ground neatly marked in a steady, looping cursive. There was a drawing of some sort of creature in the margins of each cardinal direction, like a beautifully rendered phoenix in the South near the volcano. Cordelia had seen this map only once, after Titania had taken inventory of their supplies, writing a list of what was in their possession. She kept it among her own personal belongings, only showing it to Diamond, Elixane, and occasionally Serena May. Knowledge of the arena was one of the greatest tools a tribute could have, making this map potentially the most useful item in all of the cornucopia. As such, Titania had guarded it heavily.

"How did you get this?" Cordelia asked.

"After Titania exiled you, I knew right away I was going to follow you. Even before she asked all of us whether we questioned her leadership. Everyone was really focused on what you were doing. I literally just walked up and grabbed it."

Cordelia was impressed. Something like that took guts, and she couldn't help but feel flattered that the girl had already decided to go with her over Titania. Still, nothing was proven, and so she reminded herself that trusting the two new Careers was a risk.

Then again, Cordelia had always been a bit of a risk taker.

"So. Where are we headed?"

**Ruben Ashven, District Ten**

Ruben's lungs stopped working the way he expected them to only a few minutes before he decided he could no longer keep running. He was in fairly good shape, a necessity for wrangling the cattle back home. But running for his life was not something he'd ever had to do before. Not knowing how far away the careers were, or if they were even still looking for him, Ruben had run until it felt like his chest was on fire and his body simply couldn't continue to do so.

Actually, he was surprised at how long he managed to last, but he finally couldn't take it anymore. His whole body burned, some of that from exertion, and some from the direct heat of the artificial sun beating down on him as he ran. By the time he stopped, he was drenched in sweat, and his throat was dry from lack of water. Digging into his bag, he opened a jar he had filled with lake water earlier that morning.

It seemed like such a long time ago that he and Raleigh sat together on the banks of that underground pool, certain that they would be allies for a long time.

The water had grown warm in the sun, and burned his throat as he guzzled it down, but Ruben wasn't going to complain. He was alive, something about a third of the tributes could no longer say. Although he had spent his entire time trying to impress his mentor, Ruben was actually surprised he lasted this long. He was athletic and used to dealing with the cows. Besides, there was no one to complain to, anyway.

Then he had seen the careers up close, had watched as the boy from Two gutted Raleigh without so much as a flinch, and that helped him to realize just what he was up against.

Probably best not to dwell on it, he reasoned. Choking down some more of the lukewarm water, Ruben looked over to one side of the cave wall where he had stopped to recuperate. Splashed in bright holographic lights was the seal of Panem, a sign that it was time for the anthem to begin.

The first face he saw was a career, the boy from Four. A flash of memory reminded Ruben that he had seen the boy bandaged up in one corner, when he and Raleigh had stumbled into the Career's camp. He was sick or injured, so it made sense that he died. Still, Ruben was glad he was gone. One less career in the arena was all for the better.

But then the face changed and Ruben found himself face to face with his temporary ally. He didn't think it was fair. Even though they were only two years apart, Raleigh was so young. He should have been given the chance to grow up, to have a family. None of that would ever happen thanks to those careers.

Before the next death could be shown, the wall started to shake and separate from itself, revealing a secret entrance into the tunnels just like the one he had come in through in his initial escape from the Careers. Panic welled up inside of him. He was found! He didn't know how, but the careers would surely be inside soon, and then he would be dead.

Ruben was too tired to run. Not that he would have gotten very far any way. He could still barely see the projections and make out the face of the boy from Eight. If that group of tributes hadn't been there, he was sure that the careers would have caught him much sooner. Just one more person who died instead of him.

Only one option remained. It was risky, and if it failed he would surely die. But perhaps that would be fitting. At least if he died here no one else would be killed in the process. Besides, he was likely to die anyway, wasn't he?

Lasso in hand, Ruben leapt forward, just as a figure emerged from the passageway. If he could get it around their neck in time, he might be able to strangle them. It wasn't an easy death, and it took a lot of strength. But even wiped out from all of that running, strength was something the boy from Ten had in abundance, if nothing else.

Ruben knocked the figure to the ground and heard a soft yelp. His eyes widened in shock. The intruder wasn't a career at all, but rather, the girl from Eleven. They hadn't talked much in the training center, but she was friendly enough. In fact, if he remembered correctly, she was also meant to have been Raleigh's ally. Maybe they could have worked together, if she had just walked through. If he hadn't acted rashly.

But instead he had tried to kill her, and for only a moment, Ruben saw a look in her eyes that he recognized as a pure and unyielding need for survival.

Then she threw something into his face and his eyes stung from the pain of thick ash clogging them up. Had she really just thrown dirt in his eyes? Could he blame her?

Ruben stumbled back, trying to get the dust out of his eyes. As he did so he heard something, like wood hitting wood, only damp and quiet. By the time he was able to see again, Violet was standing directly in front of him with her bow fully drawn.

"I'm sorry." He said, raising his hands.

Violet had already let go of the string before he was able to finish his apology.

**Tanner Kelly, District Seven**

Far away, the sound of a cannon boomed across the sky, accompanied immediately by a strange mechanical grinding as the projected faces in the sky halted mid transition. The anthem continued, then repeated itself in a loop. Tanner had almost died about a day ago, yet somehow the frozen, out of sync presentation was one of the most disturbing things he had experienced in the arena.

"Is it technical difficulties?" He asked out loud, "Does the Capitol even _have_ technical difficulties?"

The amusing thought helped to distract him from pain and anxiety. Imagining Capitolites, in their attire of geometric shapes and bright metallic fabrics, fussing over a broken TVtv or attempting to fix a faucet, was difficult bordering on impossible. Tanner was eager for the mental tangent. Both he and Astra knew that it was dangerous to stay in one place for too long, so his ally had built him a sort of 'sand sled' to drag him more easily. It was small and humble, constructed from a briefcase she managed to pick up during the bloodbath. Once the sun started to set, she dragged him out to the nearest landmark they could find.

That was the reason he found himself lying in the middle of an enormous boneyard, looking up at an incomplete broadcast of death flickering overhead. It was enough to make anyone nervous, he reasoned. Things always seemed more dangerous when your camp was inside the sun bleached rib cage of a massive creature.

"No, I don't think so. You heard the cannon right?" Astra said, and Tanner nodded, so she went on, "So most likely it was a lower district tribute, and the gamemakers are trying to decide whether to put him in tonight's anthem or wait for tomorrow."

"You have to admit, that's some one in a million timing." Tanner said. A lame joke, he knew, but a joke nonetheless. There was something familiar in humor, something safe. Nothing else felt safe right now. Astra almost did. She didn't need to take care of him like she had. Most tributes wouldn't have. Even those considerate enough to heal him probably wouldn't have bothered pulling him around in a self-made sled. Tanner was literally just an added burden. Yet she kept on with him.

He tried asking her about it once. The girl from Six told him it was because he scored the highest in the private sessions. But that rang false to Tanner. High score or not, he could barely lift a hatchet since his injury in the bloodbath. He was no good to anyone, definitely no good to Astra. She stayed with him because she was a good person, it was the only thing that made sense.

There was the sound of grinding mechanisms yet again and a new face hovered over the arena: the boy from Ten, Ruben he thought was his name.

"Looks like they made their decision." Astra said.

"Are you all right?" Tanner blurted out. Astra blinked in surprise, shifting her gaze from the projection to look at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Your district partner... just died."

"Oh." Astra's smile faded slightly, "I mean…I don't think any of this is alright. But he and I didn't really talk all that much. And Hebe will remember him."

"Your mentor?" Tanner asked.

"Yeah. Hebe remembers all of the names of the tributes from Six. So that they'll always be remembered by someone. So that their deaths mean something. Even if it's a little something."

"That's sweet of her."

"I think it's morbid."

Tanner laughed. "It is morbid, yeah. But it's still nice. To have someone looking out for you, even if you lose."

"Yeah I guess so." Astra said, looking up at the stars. They both remained that way until Tanner faded off to sleep.

**AN: Ok, these are coming out at a decent pace. This marks the end of day two, and one more casualty.**

**16th, Ruben Ashven by Jimster920- Please don't kill me Jimmy. I loved Ruben, I really did. He brought energy to every chapter he was in, and I absolutely loved his dynamic with his mentor. That kid had an amazing talent for getting out of difficult situations. Unfortunately his luck had to run out at some point. Goodbye Ruben, you will be missed.**

**So this means an update for the Kill Count.**

**Dash Grester- Two kills, Raleigh and Lucien**

**Elixane Marcus- One kill, Demetri  
Demetri Donovan- One kill, Zella**

**Titania Topaz- One kill, Issa**

**Carlotta Pierce- One and a half kills, Arachne**

**Seaward Waters- One kill, Mattock**

**Cordelia Korver- One kill, Seaward**

**Violet Beckingridge- One kill, Ruben**

**Next chapter will be another Capitol chapter, but after that we'll be back for day three. Thank you very much for reading, and please Review!**


	37. All That I Can Give

"That last minute death was certainly a surprise!" Horatio listened as Kallia Haversham's voice chimed brightly from his television at the back of the room, "I'm not sure that has ever happened before."

"Yes, it sure was a surprise, my goodness." Her guest at the moment Julius Erikson said, "A great feat of timing. But I think we may see more of that kind of thing this year, since the pair from Nine have decided to become nocturnal."

"What do you think of that decision?" Kallia asked.

Someone tapped Horatio on the shoulder, diverting his attention from the sound of the television, then placed a mug of warm tea in his hand. He signed thank you to whoever it was- most likely Ava, he figured- and took a sip from the mug. Steam gently rose up to grace Horatio's cheeks with a pleasant heat, seeping into his pores, and bathing him in a lovely mint scent.

Navigating the divide between himself and Avoxes was always difficult,, given they couldn't speak, and he couldn't see. But Ava never seemed to have any trouble with it. He appreciated her greatly, and liked to think that the two of them were friends.

It was difficult to say whether or not being 'friends' was actually possible for the two of them however. As a servant, Ava's tongue had been torn out for one infraction or another, and he was a part of the society responsible for her fate. Even if they were on equal terms, though, Horatio found that few people truly liked him. Able-bodied people always seemed to struggle with his blindness. Most of his relationships inevitably resulted in pity, something he wasn't terribly keen to indulge, and so few of his friendships lasted very long.

Those that did, Horatio discovered, seemed merely to _tolerate_ him. Whether they did so out of a professional duty, or because of his family's enormous fortune, it was all the same in the end.

Horatio heard a knock at the door which pulled him out of his dark thoughts. A slight shuffling told him that Ava had already moved to answer.

"Horatio?" a familiar voice called out, "It's Dax. I'm not sure if it's rude to just show up like this."

Horatio smiled. Dax Heavensbee. Dancing around a courtship with one another for some time, he was a welcome respite from the black cloud which had threatened to consume him moments before. The last time they had met, he had invited the doctor to his home so they could watch the games together. Even as he did so, Horatio wasn't entirely sure the man would take him up on it. Perhaps Dax _should_ have called first, but the surprise was welcome all the same.

"Not rude at all. Please come in. I just got some tea. Ava makes the most amazing tea. Would you like some?"

"I'm… I'm not sure." Dax replied, and he noticed the sound of the doctor's feet scuffing against the floor, as he stopped mid-stride across the room.

Horatio should have expected as much. Dax once confided in him about his mother. After the second rebellion, she had been taken and made into an Avox. She and Plutarch Heavensbee were divorced for three years at that point, but they came for her anyway. Horatio suspected that Dax saw his mother in every Avox he came across. That probably made life in the Capitol difficult. So much labor depended on them. Horatio understood the injustice of it, but when he thought too much about that, he just felt helpless.

"The tea is already made, Dax. If you want, I'll pour it." He said, more impatient than he actually intended. He mentally kicked himself for being insensitive.

But, he supposed, it was his nature. Insensitivity was bred into all rich Capitol boys. Otherwise how would they be able to ignore all of the injustice that allowed them their lives of luxury?

He heard more shuffling, and the distinct pressure of Dax sitting next to him, followed by the sound of pouring tea. Horatio leaned until he could feel Dax's shoulder, placing his head there with a soft sigh.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? Offering me tea?"

Horatio had to chuckle a bit at that. "I'm really glad you decided to come," he said, changing the subject. It was for the best really. Things weren't meant for dwelling on.

"I'm glad to have company. There's something about this year." Dax said.

Horatio murmured his agreement. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, but something about the games this year felt different. There was a sensation hanging in the air itself. Something was about to change for everyone. He remembered feeling the same way when he was much younger, the first time he heard the description of Katniss decorating Rue with flowers. There was tension buzzing through the Capitol for the entirety of that year's games. Horatio was not one for politics, but both his brothers were, and they seemed to be feeling it now as well.

"Actually I've been doing some research. And your brother's name has come up."

Horatio stiffened and lifted his head off of Dax's shoulder. He should have known. Things were going far too nicely.

"So _that's_ why you've been interested in me." He said. The words were bullets made of ice.

"What? No, that's not- of course not." Dax answered, and his shock was sincere enough that Horatio almost believed it. Almost.

"Why else would you want to date me?"

"Are you serious?"

"I am. I almost wish you would have asked me about this earlier, I could have saved you some time. I don't know anything about what Mr. Wren is doing. I don't particularly want to know."

"Dear Panem, even _you_ call him Mr. Wren?" Dax said. Once again, the surprise seemed genuine. There was even an abundance of concern in the doctor's voice. Horatio tried to stay strong. Tried to stay rational. Just because he wanted things between them to work didn't mean they would.

"Everyone calls him Mr. Wren." He snapped, "That's just how he is."

"And he really got banned from associating with Victors about a decade ago for using... excessive force?" Dax continued.

Horatio pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture his brothers had always found amusing. "That's a matter of public record, Heavensbee."

"Has he… has he ever hurt you?" Dax's voice was a throaty whisper, somewhere between fear and rage. Horatio had never heard anyone get like that on his behalf before.

"No." Horatio shook his head, "He only hurts strong people. To him, I'm weak, And I work hard to keep it that way. Our parents left everything to him, you know. The Wren fortune is all in his hands. So if I step an inch out of line, speak a hair out of turn… I'm left with nothing."

The hug was swift and unexpected. Horatio gasped as Dax squeezed the air out of him. But his arms were warm, and wrapped up in them, enveloped in affection from the Victor's physician, he felt safe for the very first time.

"Oh Horatio," he said, "Even if you weren't gorgeous. Or witty. Or one of the kindest people I have met in the entire Capitol. Even if all of that wasn't true, I would love you.

"You... _love_ me?"

"Of course I do." Dax's breath hitched, and Horatio could feel him fidgeting next to him. "You... you know what it's like to be trapped by your own name. To have no good choices, yet still hope for the best. I understand Horatio. And I'm sorry for even asking. I shouldn't have put you in that position."

The words broke Horatio. He hadn't heard such things since he was very young, when his father was still alive. _I love you. I'm sorry_. These words were foreign in the Wren Household. Meant for other, less important people.

Horatio hated being important.

"The president is building an army." He told him, "A secret one, without Council knowledge or approval. She's using the Wren funds to do it."

Dax gasped, "And in return, she let him see Victors again."

"Exactly." As Horatio talked, he could feel Dax shaking with rage.

"We need to get you out of there," the doctor said.

"How?" Horatio responded.

"I don't know. But I'll think of something."

In the background, Kallia Haversham was still babbling about the tributes of the 93rd Hunger Games. Horatio could feel the warmth of Dax's skin, and was close enough that he could feel his chest rise and fall with every breath, too. It was a sad, sublime, moment, and before he even properly knew what he was saying, the words fell out.

"I love you too Dax."


	38. Down to Earth

**Dash Grester, District Two**

The Pit felt empty.

Once, it had held eight people rather comfortably, along with their stash of weapons and survival gear. But only four remained now, although the supplies were still more or less the same. The abundance of sleeping bags and weapons stood out in stark contrast to the remaining Career Pack. The whole thing seemed surreal to Dash. Careers didn't split up like this. Then again, they also didn't use advanced tactics or poison their own or sort out problems diplomatically. The Career Pack of the 93rd Hunger Games was of an entirely new nature.

Something about that made him proud, but also a little scared. Dash was no innovator. He was calm and collected, and liked to make his decisions based on logic and strategy. Novelty, to a certain degree, took at least a little bit of rash action. Rash action like the kind that led his parents to band together with Katniss Everdeen and the rest of her rebels, leaving Dash to grow up in the care of his uncle.

"That _**bitch**_!"

Titania's rage echoed back and forth within the walls of the Pit. Dash instinctively stood up. He was seated near one of the tunnel gates, but could see her clearly at the center of the Pit, rifling through the supplies urgently for something.

"What's missing?" Dash asked on his way to her.

Titania's head snapped in his direction, and he stopped momentarily, certain her anger was about to turn on him. Instead, however, she took a deep breath and answered calmly. "The map. I think Elixane took it."

Dash whistled. The map was possibly the most useful item the pack had. He didn't have much of a head for geography, but he knew how important such information could be. Zella was a good example of this. For all of her intelligence, she was reckless, and had paid the price for that at the geyser. If she had stopped to look at the map before chasing after the fire starter, she would have known about that hazard, and perhaps been able to avoid it.

He tried not to think about Zella too hard. She was a good person, deep down. Dash truly believed that. But now she was dead, and her time to prove that was gone.

Dash shook his head, trying to focus.

"Are you sure?" he heard Titania ask. Serena May was saying something while Dash had been lost in thought. She alternated between hand motions and words in the ash. Nodding, the girl from Seven turned away from Titania and approached him.

'Do you have the sponsor note?' she wrote into the ground. Dash wasn't sure why she wanted it, but nodded and retrieved the note from the sleeping bag.

Diamond, who was clearly paying more attention than Dash had been, lit a stick on fire and promptly blew it out. He gave Serena May the charred stick, and she began to draw.

Dash couldn't help but gasp a bit as the girl began to recreate the map. All of the careers had seen the map at least once, except perhaps Zella, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to recreate any of it. Yet as he watched, the girl from Seven plotted out caves and landmarks that none of the Careers had physically been to yet. The areas Dash had seen personally seemed accurate, though. Even if the girl made a few mistakes, this was much better than navigating blind.

"I'd still prefer the original. But this will work. Thank you, Serena May." Titania said, and Dash caught the look of awe in Serena May's eyes.

"That poor girl." Dash whispered to Diamond as the two of them walked away to let Serena May work, "Titania's going to eat her alive."

"I'm not so sure." Diamond answered, "I've never seen Titania like this."

"Really? What do you mean?"

"Titania doesn't really let anyone in. I'm probably the closest thing to a friend she has, and I know almost nothing about her. Yet she actively went looking for an outer district tribute, and now she's letting her redraw our map, tend to our wounded, have a say in pack matters. She _respects_ Serena May. They both have a strange look in their eyes around each other."

"So you think the feelings are mutual?"

"It's possible."

Dash snorted. The Hunger Games were a terrible time to enter any kind of relationship. Then again, Careers were always discouraged from having significant others. It was considered a 'distraction'. Yet Dash had fallen for Porter, going so far as to leave the Academy for him. Love did what it wanted, regardless of what was practical.

"I'll take first watch." Dash volunteered, and Diamond nodded.

"Yes, we should all get to bed." he said, "It's been far too long of a day."

Dash agreed, then climbed up the stairs to the top of the pit.

**Ashlar Granodum, District Three**

Ashlar was glad to have the final shift. On the first night, he volunteered for it, and had discovered that sunrise in the arena could be truly breathtaking. This was easier to see from the Pit. The way the area was built, light streamed in gently from the top, a symphony of pinks and oranges. In the cave, almost none of that reached them. But Ashlar could see a few beams pouring out from the mouth of their shelter, and decided it wouldn't be too out of line to step out and look at the sun for a few moments.

His feet crunching through gravel and ash, he exited the shelter, and almost ran directly into two other tributes.

At first he didn't recognize them; they were wrapped in a silver blanket, huddled close together, partially hidden from sight. One of them, a pudgy girl with a serious expression, clutched a hooded lantern in her hands. The small boy with her drew a knife barely big enough to slice fruit and struck an untrained fighting stance.

Ashlar knew what he was meant to do in these situations. He thought back to the two tributes who accidentally made their way to the Pit. There was the glint of Dash's sword, so swift he barely registered what he was seeing, then the boy from Six was merely a gashed open body on the ground. That was the type of behavior expected from Careers. Expected from him.

Something about the moment reminded him of being back in District Three, when his mentor Fitz Herbert informed him that he was the chosen volunteer for Three.

"Why?" Ashlar asked, "Gadge is much better at combat than I am."

"Because the Hunger Games is much more than just combat. If all goes well here, District Three will be counted among the Careers. But that doesn't mean we have to do everything like a One or a Two. You're good with people, Ashlar. You understand what they want, and you adapt quickly. It is a difficult truth, but the tributes inside the arena with you are just people. You have a better chance than anyone else for that exact reason."

Looking at the two tributes from Nine, as he now recognized them, it was quite obvious what his trainer meant. These were not killers, or training dummies that he could tear apart with ease, these were people with hopes and dreams.

People with weaknesses. That last observation left him cold. But it also stayed his hand.

"Is that for me?" He said dryly, motioning his head towards Rust's knife.

"Do you think I won't use it?" The boy snarled.

"No, I'm sure you would. But I hope you won't. Because actually, I could use your help."

Nettie Sue snorted. "Like we would believe that. You're just buying time, or planning something that lets the other Careers pop out of the ground and attack us or... something."

Ashlar shook his head. "The pack split up. There's only three of us in here. I'm the only one awake. Have you seen the Oasis yet?"

"The Oasis?"

"We have a map. There should be an oasis- a green area, with shade and water- somewhere around here."

"We did see that." Rust said. Nettie Sue tried to shush him but he kept going, "But it didn't feel right so we didn't go."

"Smart." Ashlar said, "It's guarded by a mutt. The map we have says it's a Wyrm. And I have a theory about that."

Back in District Three, Ashlar thought the insistence on researching pre-Dark Days literature was ridiculous. He loved it of course. So many of the stories were fascinating. But he didn't think any of it would matter once he was in the Games. How wrong he was about that amazed him.

"What kind of theory?" Rust asked.

"There's a book I read once. It took place in the desert, and there were these gigantic sand worms. One of the things about them is that they are attracted to rhythm. So if you walk in a way that has no rhythm, you could avoid detection."

"Why are you telling us this?" Nettie Sue snapped.

Ashlar looked into her eyes, saw the grave suspicion there. He knew what he was doing and he hated every minute of it. No matter what happened from now on, what trials or kills he made in the future, he could feel it in his bones that _this_ was the moment that defined him. If he lived through this, if he became Victor, he knew he would regret these words for the rest of his life.

"Because we're running out of water. We could waste our energy fighting you, or we could make a truce. It looks like you were out at night. We'll leave, you can sleep here, and we'll come back in the evening and walk to the Oasis together, out of rhythm. If I'm right, we all get water, and then we'll give you a day's head start. If I'm wrong, there's safety in numbers."

Nettie Sue seemed to mull it over, though the suspicion never left her eyes. "Fine." She said, "But you leave _now_. You can return this evening."

Ashlar nodded and went to wake his two allies. They were confused, but neither questioned him immediately, too groggy from sleep to think very hard. About twenty feet away from the cave, Elixane finally spoke up, her lips pursed tight.

"Why didn't you just kill those kids?"

"I did."

She rolled her eyes, "What part of telling them your weird Dune theory and giving them a place to sleep killed them? Do you think boredom is poisonous?"

"Were you listening to their interviews?" Ashlar asked, "The girl's been abused. The boy has been ostracized. Their whole lives they've been belittled, betrayed, and bullied."

He was far too concerned by the situation to care about the accidental alliteration. The only reason he noticed it at all was because Cordelia laughed slightly after he finished.

"So what? You felt sorry for them?"

"No. I made a deal and I told a story. With a past like that, why would they ever believe a story told by another tribute? Much less a Career?"

A look of realization crossed Elixane's face and she laughed. "You're a bastard, Ashlar. A genius. But a bastard."

Ashlar knew both of those things were true.

**Nettie Sue Monroe, District Nine**

"He's lying. He's got to be lying." Nettie Sue spat. Her words were almost as much for herself as they were for Rust. She peered out of the cave, making sure the careers were out of sight, before turning back to where he was lying down in the Careers' former shelter.

"I don't know. He didn't sound like he was lying." her ally said, rolling out the blanket, apparently preparing to get some sleep.

She didn't know how he could be thinking about sleeping at all. Tremendous odds against them insisted that the Careers would double back and kill them in their beds at any moment. Or perhaps they truly would meet that evening, only to send her and Rust to the Oasis ahead, to be devoured by whatever monster lay there. Supposing there even _was_ a monster at all.

Nettie Sue felt paranoid beyond reason. She knew what she would sound like if she voiced all of the thoughts that were currently going through her head. But no part of their interaction with the Career had made any sense at all. 'Running out of water,' he said. Then why leave their cave to struggle in the heat? Why not kill her and Rust and take theirs? Something rotten lay at the heart of that boy. She had been around people long enough to now when they didn't have her interests in mind.

"Good liars never sound like they're lying, do they?" She said.

Rust sighed and nodded, "You're right. But what do we _do_ about it?"

Nettie Sue didn't have an answer for that right away. Spending most of last night walking around the arena, gathering what resources she could find, left her exhausted. They really did need to sleep soon. But she couldn't trust that the shelter was a safe place to do so. She wasn't sure if there were any other caves nearby, either. Perhaps this was a location connected to a tunnel, but traveling through might just ensure the two of them ran into the rest of the Careers.

The Oasis came to her suddenly. She and Rust had passed it during their travels, the shadows of trees and animals visible in the dark, the smell of greenery lingered in the air there. There was water in the Oasis, and who knew what else. It would be the safest place to sleep.

"Well. We know he wasn't lying about the Oasis." She began, "It _exists_. We saw it ourselves."

Rust stopped what he was doing, biting his lip in thought. "And he probably also wasn't lying about the worm. It makes sense for the arena to put a mutt there. And since we didn't see anything when we passed... it has to be underground."

"So what he had to be lying about was the _truce_." She concluded.

Rust started to pack up. They had been travelling together so long that they didn't need to finish the rest of that sentence. If he thought the two wouldn't trust him, he'd know they would try to run. And the only logical place to run was straight towards the Oasis. It was the only place to run, really, given their energy level and resources. Normally Nettie Sue would expect that Ashlar intended to cut them off as they headed to the Oasis. But the area was too open to properly block. He had mentioned something about a book he read, and how to avoid being detected by the beast. It didn't make sense that the Career would leave them with only one destination, but provide them the information they needed in order to get across.

Which meant that he must have also lied about what repelled the worm.

They both sprinted out of the cave. The faster they got to the Oasis, the faster they could sleep, the less danger they would be in of the Careers returning to kill them off. A natural rhythm pounded against the dunes with each of their footfalls.

_Left right left right left._

Nettie Sue could feel her heart beating in her chest. Her whole body seemed to vibrate from the intensity with which it hammered away. No, she realized, the vibrations were coming from outside her heart and her body.

They came from the sand beneath her.

Nettie Sue wanted to stop, to sort through their options, to change course. But she was too tired. If she stopped moving, she wouldn't be able to start up again, she could feel it. There were trees on the distant horizon. She and Rust were nearly there. Just a little further now.

_Left right left right left. _

The vibrating got worse. Everything shook so much that even her footing almost slipped out from under her. A dull roar came at her from all directions.

_Left right left- no. _

Only one thing made sense now. For some reason, the Career boy had told them the truth. Every single part of her screamed at the fundamental _wrongness_ of that. People had used her all her life, lying, abusing and manipulating her. Nettlie Sue had learned how to survive through all of that. Learned to stand up to bullies and see through falsehoods. It was a dark irony that the truth was what might finally get her.

_Left right jump shuffle right right left._

She tried to change up her pattern, but it was too late. Part of her knew that already. All at once Nettie Sue was knocked to the ground by a terrible blast of upward force. Her lungs burned as she lay on the ground gasping. There was some horrid grinding sound, like rock scraping against rock. With the last of her energy, Nettie Sue turned over and looked up at the sky.

Blocking her view of the sky and the clouds and even the sun was a gigantic worm. Just like Ashlar said.

Dark onyx colored, the same shade as the ash all around her, it looked to her like it was made entirely of stone. It rose fifty feet in the air, but she was sure it was more than capable of pushing higher. Then it angled back down, and Nettie Sue could see three circular rows containing thousands of sharp stone teeth. That same sound of grinding rocks began again, and the teeth started to rotate, whirring like a great black meat grinder.

It descended upon her, and Nettie Sue knew no more.

**AN: Right so. That happened. This chapter was hard to write, but I think it turned out well. Terribly. But well. And now we get another eulogy**

**15th, Nettie Sue Monroe by CivilWarrose- This was a very hard death. I'm not sure I expected to fall in love with Nettie Sue as much as I did. But her grit and determination was admirable, and her relationship with Rust was something truly special. I'm going to miss her a whole lot.**

**So this means an update for the Kill Count.**

**Dash Grester- Two kills, Raleigh and Lucien**

**Elixane Marcus- One kill, Demetri  
Demetri Donovan- One kill, Zella**

**Titania Topaz- One kill, Issa**

**Carlotta Pierce- One and a half kills, Arachne**

**Seaward Waters- One kill, Mattock**

**Cordelia Korver- One kill, Seaward**

**Violet Beckingridge- One kill, Ruben**

**Ashlar Granodum- One kill, Nettie Sue**

**I don't have a ton to say this chapter. So please read and review, and I'll see you next time.**


	39. Up in the Air

**Tesla Nichols, District Five**

A cannon '_boom!'_ jolted Tesla awake. For a split second, she was not sure where she was, wondering why she wasn't in her bed at home like she should be. Slowly, she remembered about the Hunger Games, and every horrible thing that had happened to her since. Being alive at all was a surprise. The Rainfall Hydra had seemed certain to catch up with her. But she knew that being dead probably couldn't be this painful. All of her muscles were screaming from overuse, her head throbbed from falling unconscious.

"Oh good, you're awake." A voice said sarcastically. Tesla turned, but doing so set off a crack of sharp pain in her temple. She could see now that she had somehow gone from the forest of the Hydra to one of the dark caves beneath the dunes. Hunched against a wall was an older girl, looking at her with an incredibly cross expression. Tesla scooted herself a few inches away.

"Don't mind her. She's glad to see you're ok." Another voice said. Sitting at the back of the cave was another girl, "Tesla right? I'm Anthracite. The grump over there is Carlotta."

Carlotta grunted, "Are you five? I'm not a 'grump. I just think it's a waste, taking in someone so devoid of use to us. Don't blame me when this girl slows us down and we end up being skewered by Careers."

Tesla wished that she could deny it. But the truth was, she knew she was weak. She had lasted this long thanks to the kindness of strangers. Magnus had disabled the bombs on her platform. Then all of the various sponsors kept her safe and well fed. Now, she supposed, strangers were the ones responsible for saving her once again.

"I'm sorry." she said, looking down, "I didn't mean to be any trouble."

"Now look what you did." Anthracite scolded Carlotta, "You've got her apologizing for being alive."

"That's not my fault." Carlotta said defensively.

"Tell her you were worried."

"I refuse."

The two girls stared at one another in stubborn silence. Carlotta with her arms crossed and Anthracite with an impatient yet smug look on her face. Tesla wanted to say that she didn't need Carlotta to say anything at all, but it felt like she would be interrupting.

"..._fine_. I'm glad you're alive," Carlotta finally snapped, "I probably should have killed you already but I was weak and brought you back so you can hang out here with us until you fucking _die_. But I don't want that to happen, _for some reason_, even though we're in the fucking Hunger Games. Happy?"

"A little." Anthracite answered, "How does it feel actually saying what you mean?"

"Weird."

Anthracite smiled warmly, but Tesla still felt wildly uncomfortable. Carlotta's admission did little to put her at ease. She wasn't entirely sure what it meant, either, which made things confusing.

But she didn't know what else to do so she tried her best to smile. Anthracite smiled back and Carlotta seemed to relax ever so slightly, and so she figured her silent smile had been the right call.

A sudden beeping echoed cheerfully from somewhere deeper within the cave. Tesla rose steadily to her feet and walked towards the sound without waiting to see if the other girls noticed or felt the need to investigate it themselves. About halfway between them and the package, she stopped, realizing that she was no longer alone.

"Sorry. I... didn't think that it might not be mine." She said.

Carlotta snorted again, "Look at you. It's clearly yours." The girl from District Ten gestured with a flap of her hand, disgruntled, dismissive.

Tesla looked down at herself. So many golden parachutes were sent to her that by now, a decent amount of golden glitter had rubbed off onto her clothes and skin. It was enough that she sparkled slightly when the light hit her. The girl seemed to have a good point. Tesla continued the rest of her way to the parachute and looked at the tag attached to it.

It was in fact for her. She opened the long cylindrical tube and a bottle of bright red liquid slid out. 'For dehydration,' was all the note said. Tesla uncapped the bottle and began to guzzle from it gratefully.

"Do you have a rich uncle or something?" Anthracite asked. She tried to keep the tone neutral, but Tesla could hear the jealousy. She instantly felt bad. So far, aside from the Rainfall Hydra, her time at the Games had been easy. Almost pleasant even. But looking at these two girls, covered in ash, she realized that couldn't possibly be true for everyone.

"Well. My father's the mayor of District Five." she admitted, "But we're not rich enough for all of this."

"Oh, of course!" Carlotta exclaimed, causing Tesla to jump, "The girl whose slips were rigged. I can't believe I forgot about that."

Tesla wished she could forget, but every time she inhaled and filled her lungs with the hot, dry air of the arena... she remembered. "So you think people feel sorry for me?"

"I think the Capitol is trying to avoid a martyr situation." Carlotta answered, "If you died in the bloodbath, a third rebellion would start overnight. I'm sure there are probably some people pitying you. With a score of one, who the fuck wouldn't?"

"You're very mean." Tesla said. Instantly, she slapped one hand over her mouth, covering it up on instinct. Saying things like that wasn't just rude; around other tributes in the Hunger Games, it could be outright dangerous.

But Carlotta didn't attack. In fact, she snorted, laughing more warmly than Tesla expected."I mean you're not wrong." Carlotta's face was softer now.

"Yeah, I'm mean. Mostly when I'm scared. I'm not… good with people."

Tesla frowned, uncertain what to make of the other two tributes, and she was scared herself. But the admission made her realize that they were people just like her. None of them wanted to be here, but they were here all the same, together. In a moment of impulsivity, Tesla ran forward and hugged Carlotta.

She didn't pull away.

**Diamond Stark, District One**

Hearing the '_boom!_' of a cannon in the distance, Diamond turned to his companion. "Do you think that's the others?"

He and Dash walked across the dunes together quietly. It was still cool enough to travel above ground, so they were taking advantage of the opportunity. Normal Career Pack activity, like hunting for tributes, felt strange to him. But the four of them had to keep their edge somehow. Losing almost half the pack, plus the map, could be potentially crippling. Hunting was drilled into Diamond's head all through his time at the academy. The same was true for most Careers. There was something familiar in the process, something comforting.

"I'm trying not to think too much about them." Dash said, "They're traitors. Who cares?"

Diamond cared, although he knew how much of a liability that was. He wanted to know how the other Careers were doing, how they felt about the split, about the Games in general. He wondered if the Threes were by themselves or had teamed up with Cordelia. Perhaps they had gotten into a fight, the cannon indicating the end of that conflict. Too many possibilities. Yet Diamond was trying to grasp them anyway.

"Did you stay with us because you wanted to? Or because you didn't want to be considered a traitor?" Diamond asked. He knew he shouldn't have said it, that he was putting pieces together he was better off leaving alone. But he yearned for it anyway.

Figuring out who was behind Seaward's murder filled Diamond with a rush unlike anything he had ever felt before. He was a Career in the Hunger Games, and he was not only surviving but excelling, putting his intellect to good use. So what did it matter if he turned that intellect on his allies on occasion?

Dash tensed at the question, and turned his head so that he was no longer facing Diamond "Because I agreed with you. How dare you ask me such a question?"

"I didn't mean to be rude." Diamond said, "But does it bother you? That your parents were rebels?"

"Of course it bothers me." He snapped.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?" Dash roared, whirling to face the other boy, and Diamond feared he had pushed too far, "Because I love Panem. It's not perfect, sure. But it's my home and it has great ideals and I want to fight every single day for what it can be. My parents sought to tear it down. Why wouldn't that bother me? But no, that's not why I stayed. I like you guys. I like _you_ Diamond."

Diamond stopped in his tracks. "I have a boyfriend."

"So do I. That's not what I meant. You're the closest friend I have in this place. And Titania's pretty cool too."

Diamond couldn't help but smile. He wasn't one to express his emotions, but he enjoyed spending time with Dash too. It was good to know that Dash valued their time together as much as he did.

Soon the two of them reached their destination: A large collection of bleach white bones jutting out of the ground in some sort of sinister monument. The boneyard was not a welcoming place. He felt uneasy just looking at the enormous bones. But they provided shade, and if Serena May remembered the map correctly there was a water source inside it, which made it an ideal camp for tributes. Diamond had been the one to suggest checking it to begin with.

His hunch was proven correct a moment after their arrival, as he caught a blur of movement in the distance. It was difficult to tell just what it was, given the glare of the sun, but it was too big to be one of the lizards he saw scurrying around the arena.

"Diamond." Dash whispered, pointing towards the same movement. Diamond nodded and readied his darts, slipping behind one of the large pieces of bone.

Before leaving the Pit that morning, both boys sorted out how they would work together if the hunt proved fruitful. Dash would be the muscle, fighting the other tributes head on, while Diamond would provide backup to his companion. Perhaps it wasn't the perfect plan, but it suited their individual skill sets, giving them some room for improvisation.

As he flitted between rib bones, he heard murmuring. It was difficult to identify who was speaking, but Diamond could make out two distinct voices: a boy and a girl. He felt some pride in knowing that he had led them to some tributes, but also felt a pang of guilt. Killing wasn't the way he expected, the way he was told. At the academy it was always clinical and clean. But death was messy. Death was unpredictable. Diamond was pretty sure he disliked it.

Perhaps that was why he hadn't yet gotten any kills. He and Ashlar were the only Careers without a kill to their name, and with Ashlar gone Diamond felt an intense pressure to change this. The number of tributes were waning, albeit slowly. If he didn't contribute to the action soon, odds were he would lose his fans. Sponsors were incredibly useful in the late game, when the Pack turned on each other to determine a winner.

"Did you hear something?" Diamond heard the male voice say, and stopped moving for a moment.

"We should probably get going just in case." The girl said, "Can you walk yet?"

"I think so."

So the boy was injured. Diamond made a note of that. It would probably be best to target him first. Perhaps it was unsportsmanlike, but Diamond knew his strengths and weaknesses. He was unlikely to win in a straight fight, even against an Outer District. So he had to think smarter. Unfortunately that usually meant thinking meaner.

It was entirely too late to realize this, but Diamond was beginning to think he wasn't cut out for the Games.

"There it is again." the boy said, except this time Diamond heard it too.

'_Cl__atter-clack-clatter-clack.'_

At first, he reasoned that it was bones being pushed around in the breeze. But there was something in his gut that made him wary. Pieces of a puzzle that hadn't quite come together yet. Diamond knew to trust his instincts.

A flash of black, and a girl of about sixteen rushed past him. He almost didn't see her, as she faded right into the bleak background of the arena. So his prey were clever. He didn't know if that made what he was about to do better or worse.

'_Cl__atter-clack-clack, clack-clack-clatter.'_

Whatever was making the sound grew louder. Diamond's brain finally processed what felt so strange: the wind. When he and Dash had first entered the boneyard, the air had been still. But gradually since then it picked up at a steady pace.. Changes in the weather weren't all that strange in the Hunger Games. But as he crouched down and followed the female tribute with his eyes, he realized that the wind wasn't blowing in one direction like it should have been. It was circling, back and forth, blowing one way and then the next.

These were the beginnings of a cyclone, and Diamond was directly in its path.

By now the wind was strong enough to pick up a stray piece of bone, which clipped his shoulder on its way through the air. He let out an involuntary grunt in surprise, loud enough for the girl to hear, and she turned towards him in alarm.

"Who's there?"

Dash's sword was swift and precise as he struck without warning. The girl dodged at the last second, but still caught the edge of his blade biting into her arm. She screamed and stumbled back. Dash moved to press his advantage, raising his sword for another strike, but was hit by a stray rock blowing in the wind.

Diamond noticed the wind was louder now, stronger, hurling larger objects in every direction. It was getting increasingly more dangerous to be here. But if he killed someone, that would bring him one step closer to going home. This was a tactical decision: retreat to safety or go for the glory of the kill.

Just the wind, he thought, that's all it is. What serious harm could it really do to him? Adjusting his stance, he bent his knees and brought himself lower to the ground. It gave him the chance to sneak closer to the fight between his ally and the girl from Six.

Dash was already recovered, switching his footing to a defensive stance. Diamond could see the look of concentration on his face as he determined how best to strike in this windstorm. Before he could decide on his next move, the girl reached out for a sharp piece of bone that whizzed towards her on a weaker gust of wind. In one swift motion, she snatched it out of the air, and used it to stab Dash in the leg. Diamond could see him howl in pain, but the sound was taken away by the wind. Clearly this girl was not someone to be underestimated.

But she was not the only person in the boneyard. Diamond remembered which direction she had been running when he first caught sight of her. Her ally was injured, and most likely wasn't moving in these conditions. Diamond headed that direction, keeping his center of gravity low so that the wind would have less effect on him.

The tribute he was looking for wasn't far. He was situated against one of the giant ribs, clutching on to it for stability. Diamond stood up, no longer worried about stealth. The girl from Six was occupied and the boy was unable to move. Drawing one of his pre-poisoned darts from a pouch on his hip, he quickly took aim.

He and his target locked eyes, and Diamond felt a profound feeling of wrongness. More pieces clicked together in his mind. The boy was afraid, terrified even. But not of him. He mouthed something Diamond couldn't hear, then pointed up to the sky. Diamond looked up.

'_Cl__atter-clack-clatter, clack-clack-clack, skreeeee!'_

Diamond knew he was a particularly smart tribute. He was almost always a couple steps ahead of everyone at least. Yet sometimes even he could miss things right in front of him. Sometimes he made assumptions and turned the wrong way in his decisions. Diamond had believed that the cyclone was a weather condition meant to add drama and spice to he and Dash's fight with the other tributes in the boneyard. So, as the stray bones in the area were carried upwards by the wind all around him, he treated them merely as obstacles. Just another part of the show.

Now he could see that the bones formed a figure in the sky. Around fifty feet or so above them, flapping its skeletal wings, there was an enormous creature. It was difficult to tell just how big it was given the distance between them and how fiercely the wind was blowing, but Diamond estimated it was easily the same size as the train that brought him to the Capitol. At first he thought it was a dragon, but there was something distinctly birdlike about its perfectly white skull. Staring down, the mighty gryphon seemed to look right at Diamond, meeting his gaze with empty eye sockets.

'_Skreeeeee, clack-clack-clack, skreeee!'_

A terrifying gryphon made of bones shrieked loud enough for all four tributes to hear over the wind and stop them in their tracks. This storm wasn't a weather condition at all, but a way to assemble a mutt. And Diamond had dumbly stumbled right into its territory.

**Astra Porter, District Six**

Astra was pretty sure this was where she was going to die. The wind whipped violently around her as she clutched onto the fractured piece of bone that was her only defense against a fully trained Career. There was a terrible shriek, and she looked up, just in time to see a horrendous creature made of bone dive down towards the part of the boneyard where she had left Tanner.

Her blood instantly ran cold. To prepare for her own death was one thing. Surviving the Hunger Games was a long shot, she always knew that. But letting someone else die didn't sit well with her, not when that person was under her protection. Until Tanner was well enough to take care of himself, she considered it her duty to care for him.

Astra's entire mentality towards her fight with the boy from Two changed. She stared at him, analyzing his stance more closely. Before, all she could think was that she could never come out on top in a full on fight against a Career. Now she had to. Which meant all she had to do was figure out how.

Dash swung at her again, and she jumped back just in time yet again. Midway through her jump, she was caught by the cyclone and pushed several feet back, collapsing into a heap in the bones and ash not swept up by the wind. Her opponent stepped forward to take advantage of her fall, but the wind slowed him down long enough for Astra to get back on her feet.

Her advantage became clear to her then. Astra was smaller and lighter than the boy. The winds would carry her further, and if she used them right she might be able to get back to Tanner before the Boneyard Gryphon killed him.

Dash attacked again, but Astra worked with the wind this time, letting it carry her to his left before he could stab her. The boy paused and seemed thoughtful. Astra would have sighed in exasperation if she wasn't already panting from the exertion. She couldn't have faced off with a dumb Career. No, she had to deal with somebody with some sense in his head.

But he was a careful planner, too careful, taking his time. Astra didn't _have_ time.

Jumping with all her might, she used the strength of the gale to leap over the other boy's head, and hit the ground running in the direction of Tanner and the Boneyard Gryphon. A giant crack in the direction she was headed sounded over the roaring wind, and the ground shook. She turned the corner to see the Boneyard Gryphon trying to wrest himself free from one of the great ribs that made up the structure of the boneyard. Nearby was the boy from One, desperately trying to catch his breath, while Tanner huddled over his sled on the opposite site and clung to his hatchet for dear life.

"Tanner!" Astra yelled. Tanner turned and smiled slightly. She was so relieved to see that she wasn't too late to save him.

Then the gryphon let out another deafening shriek, yanking itself free from the pair of ribs keeping it wedged in place. This formed a great crack in the larger bone, and it fell with a thunderous sound. Astra saw cracks forming on the other parts of the enormous rib cage as well. It was only a matter of minutes before the entire boneyard fell.

Astra didn't think. She just ran. She sprinted right for Tanner, and didn't stop even when she got to him, snatching the rope attached to his sled off the ground in a flash. She didn't look back, she didn't care about the supplies they left behind, she didn't care about any of that. All that mattered was survival.

"Astra, wait!" Tanner cried out.

"Those Careers might come after us! Or that monster...thing, the Mutt! The last thing we can do right now is _wait_." She snapped.

"Exactly."

"Tanner, this is _not_ the time for witty banter."

"I'm too heavy Astra. If you carry me, either the Mutt catches up with you, or else they do."

Astra finally stopped and turned to face him now. She clutched the rope so tight her knuckles hurt. "You better not be saying what I think you're saying."

Tanner stood up. Astra gasped. He was moving on his own for the first time since she found him bleeding to death in the ashy dunes. His injuries were still very grave, however, and she doubted there was much he could do even now.

"You've been wonderful, helping me this far. You didn't have to do all of that, didn't have to do _any_ of it. But you did." he said, "So...let me help you."

"No." Astra said, "Bullshit. If you can walk, you can run. So just... run with me and forget about whatever dickheaded martyr plan you're cooking up."

"When you win." Tanner said, "When, not if... I want you to go to my family during the victory tour."

"No." Astra was trying to sound tough, but tears stung her eyes, each one a hot pinprick on her eyes that dribbled down her cheeks, "No. I'm not letting you be this dumb."

"I want you to tell them I love them. Even Nash. And I want you to take care of them. Please."

"I am this close to knocking you out and dragging you away right now."

"And tell Hebe to remember my name. I know you will, too. But…hey, the more the merrier, right?"

"_Tanner."_

Her voice came out harsh and ragged and her throat clenched up tight. Astra knew she might be able to stop him. He was injured. A good kick to the knee would quickly curb these noble urges. Instead she was trying to convince him with nothing but her mere refusal, stubborn and sad, hoping she could make him see reason. Make him see how much she cared. Behind him, the boneyard finally collapsed, great white chunks of the rib cage structure falling to the ash below. Maybe the Careers were dead, maybe this whole argument was completely pointless.

But no. No cannon's boom announced even a single death. The Careers were still alive. Although they couldn't know what condition the two boys were in, it was still possible that they would come after them, and Tanner was right that together he and Astra were too slow.

"I'm not going to tell them shit." Astra said finally, "Tell them yourself."

Tanner swept a hand through his hair, frustrated, but managing to laugh one last time. Finally he said, "Our old cave?"

"Our old cave. If you're not there in an hour I'm leaving your ass. But you're _going_ to be there."

Tanner kissed the top of her forehead, then turned and limped his way back the way they came, nearly managing to run.

Astra turned and ran away. She didn't stop even when a cannon fired. She couldn't worry about who that might be. She had to get to safety.

The mouth of the cave where she and Tanner had first sought refuge came into view before her. It was surprising how many memories could be made in just a few days. As she entered, she could still imagine him leaning against the rocks, making some wry comment about how much 'bellyaching' he wanted to do over his stomach injury, or the state of the arena they found themselves in.

Astra made her way to the back of the cave and pulled a loose rock free from the wall. Before they left, Astra divided up some of the supplies, and stuffed them inside this makeshift cubby for safe-keeping. It wasn't much, some food and water, a handful of Capitol medicine and the bottom half of the suitcase she had used to make Tanner's sled. Yet now, since her supplies had accidentally been left behind during their flight from the boneyard, she was grateful for her own foresight.

Astra stared for far too long at the remainder of that suitcase which looked so much like his sled.

The cannon fired again. Her hands shook as she slid the supplies back into their hiding spot. One cannon was easy to dismiss, but two? Astra fiddled with the bone she had used to stab the Career and tried to remember if the spot she hit might have been a fatal wound.

Instead, she involuntarily remembered a time when she had asked Tanner about his high gamemaker score.

"He was bigger than me, stronger than me. Better trained, you know?" he explained to her, "So I just… decided to use that against him. I've always been best when the odds were against me."

There was still hope. Tanner was injured, but that didn't have to mean he was gone. Peering out from the mouth of the cave, she repeated the thought in her head over and over, waiting for him to appear from around a corner at any moment with that ridiculous lopsided smile on his face. After a while, she whispered it to herself, as though the words were a spell that could make it true.

Even as she said it, Astra knew deep in her gut she was fooling herself.

**AN: This was a monster of a chapter, figuratively and literally. These guys are no joke are they? **

**Like a butthead I'm not going to tell you who the cannons were for. I'm sorry that's probably frustrating. But you'll find out during the anthem like everybody else.**

**So this means there is not an update for the Kill Count, but I'm putting it here so I can C/P it onto my next chapter later.**

**Dash Grester- Two kills, Raleigh and Lucien**

**Elixane Marcus- One kill, Demetri  
Demetri Donovan- One kill, Zella**

**Titania Topaz- One kill, Issa**

**Carlotta Pierce- One and a half kills, Arachne**

**Seaward Waters- One kill, Mattock**

**Cordelia Korver- One kill, Seaward**

**Violet Beckingridge- One kill, Ruben**

**Ashlar Granodum- One kill, Nettie Sue**

**It feels weird that this chapter is so massive yet I have so little to say. But that's how it happens sometimes. I love you all and please read and review.**


	40. The World Turned Upside Down

**Violet Beckingridge, District Eleven**

Violet tried to hold onto the number of how many tributes were dead and how many were left alive. She struggled to keep them in her head even before, during her fight with the Ash Phoenix, and it was even harder now that her mind was being pulled apart and viciously scattered in different directions.

She had killed someone. No matter how this ended, she would forever be a murderer. During her time in the training center, she thought about the possibility every once in a while. If she was going to get out of the Games, she was going to have to do her best. There was every chance that meant she would have to kill someone. But when these thoughts came to her, she always thought that it would be more justified. Her imagined kills always involved Careers coming after her or battle hardened tributes swinging an axe at her.

The boy she killed was just that, a boy. True, he attacked her first, but it had clearly been out of panic. In that same spirit of fear, Violet shot an arrow into his heart. She could still see the look in his eyes, scared and guilty, before slipping into glassy oblivion. Suddenly the person in front of her was a corpse and Violet was no longer an innocent, but a killer.

She thought about burying his body, doing something to honor the boy she had killed. But she remembered the 74th Hunger Games, and what happened to Katniss Everdeen for doing the same. Instead she just looted his body, taking what few items he had in order to ensure her own survival. She released his jar of fireflies and they danced around his body until it slowly sunk down into the ground of the cave. At least someone, something, treated him with respect as he went.

Sleep did not help make her feel any better. In fact, now that it was daylight, all her internal justifications rang hollow. Did she really deserve to live over him? What did 'deserve' even mean with life and death on the line? Two cannons echoed in the distance, and Violet was consumed with doubt.

When Violet heard her name on the lips of District Eleven's escort, she assumed this was her punishment for something she had done. She always believed that bad things were a result of bad behaviors, and that the world worked like a massive, cosmic scale. Going into the Games, she believed there was still hope for her. That there was a chance if she worked as hard as she always did, she would be rewarded.

But neither of those extremes explained why she was alive and the boy with the fireflies was dead. Karma had no place in the Games. There were no scales here to reward her for her efforts or determine good from bad.

So where did that leave her? Her entire life, she managed to push forward because she knew that all of her work would be rewarded. And up until recently, it had been. Things hadn't been perfect, but her family was safe and fed and they looked out for each other. Her career was going well, being one of the youngest people to oversee a section of harvesters. In her home district, the world had her back. She didn't know what she was without the scales balancing on their own.

For the first time, possibly ever, Violet was completely on her own. It made her feel lost, hollow. But she shook the sensation off. There was no time for self pity in the Hunger Games. She was not completely without positive qualities. Until now she thought of her luck so far as the world giving her what she put into it. But perhaps it was only her. She was the one who worked hard to provide for her family. She was the one who had shot a phoenix out of the air with nothing but a few arrows and her wits. Alone, not with the help of some unknowable cosmic karma, she was going to win the Hunger Games.

She took the dead boy's makeshift lantern and filled it with animal fat from the leftovers of the small rodents she ate the night before. Adding a short piece of rope for the wick, she lit her newly made candle and opened the entrance into the tunnel system.

Last time, she did not spend long in the tunnels. It was too dark to navigate, so the moment she thought she found a way out she took it. But the existence of fireflies meant that there was more to be discovered underneath the arena. That was where she would head next. That was where she would meet her destiny.

A destiny that she forged for herself.

**Titania Topaz, District One**

It was an odd feeling, to have things fall apart _and_ into place, all at the same time.

In less than a day, Titania had gone from the highly questioned leader of one of the largest Career Packs in history, to being de facto in charge of one of the smallest. She was in control of the most strategically beneficial area in the entire arena, but with only a copy of the map to navigate elsewhere. The number of Outer District tributes were dropping rapidly, but she couldn't really be held responsible for that. The only kill she had so far was from the bloodbath. There had been other opportunities, but she had turned every single one of them down.

Maybe Elixane and Cordelia were right. Maybe she was too soft.

Hours had passed since her much smaller alliance split off in pairs to hunt tributes. She and Serena May came back unsuccessful. Judging by the sound of two cannons going off earlier in the day, she felt it reasonable to assume that the other pair had been luckier. Or unluckier. Dash and Diamond weren't back yet. It formed a deep dread in the pit of Titania's stomach. What if her leadership had led to their deaths? Perhaps she should have been crueler, stronger, more decisive.

No. This kind of self doubt would kill her and her team quicker than any amount of mercy. She was a strong leader, no matter what anyone else believed. She refused to go to pieces just because the boys were late.

By her side, Serena May stepped closer, and gently squeezed her hand. Titania smiled, but some part of her was filled with dread at the gesture.

It wasn't Serena May's fault exactly. The girl from Sevenwas a solid ally and contributed to the pack's well-being day after day. Besides that, she was incredibly easy to get along with. Intelligent and amiable, she was teaching Titania sign language. Last night they stayed up far past their shifts, conversing on everything from clothes to architecture to Panemian politics.

The problem was that this was the very worst place, and the very worst time, on the entire planet to become attached to someone. Titania managed to avoid attachment her whole life. Her mother's status as a pariah in One helped make that easy. When she was a child, she often suffered dirty looks and whispered rumors about who her father was, about her loose mother. She had a few friends, but it had never been easy.

At the start of her Career training, her social status had been so bad that the academy hadn't even wanted to accept her at first. It was only thanks to her mother's Herculean efforts that she was allowed to pick up her first halberd at all.

For the longest time, Sapphire Topaz was the only person ever in Titania's corner. At first, she had been strongly against the idea of Titania training for the Games. "Nothing is worth your life." she used to say, "Not our status. Not my pride. Your life is more precious than all of the gold in Panem."

But when she went to withdraw her daughter, Olyvia Birch smiled with such smug satisfaction on her face, telling Sapphire that it was 'for the best' in words _dripping_ with honey. Sapphire hit Olyvia so hard she knocked a tooth loose, and after some very heated words with the director of the Academy, Titania was allowed to enter.

"They can say what they want about me, but no one's going to tell my little girl what she can't do." Sapphire told her.

Titania knew that she was going to miss her mother, but she didn't realize just how much. Not even two weeks were passed since they said goodbye after the Reapings, but it felt like an entire lifetime ago. The arena was a whole different world, visceral and surreal at the same time. But there was one thing that she knew to be true: if she was ever going to get back to her mother, Serena May had to die.

The problem was that the more time went by the more she detested the thought.

"They'll be back." Serena May signed to her, "Those two are too stubborn to die."

"You best hope that's not completely true." Titania said, "You know they're going to have to die for you to leave here, right? Me too."

Serena May's face was unreadable. She stood there without signing anything for several minutes. Then before Titania knew what was happening she was pulled in for a kiss.

Titania had kissed quite a lot of girls before. Back in District One, she had a reputation, even getting caught making out with a girl in the locker room one time after training. She was a firm believer that keeping her distance emotionally didn't mean she had to keep it physically. But somehow, this kiss was different than the many different kisses she shared with many different women. Maybe it was that exact closeness which changed things, a sort of intimacy that she'd never allowed herself to express before.

Serena May was gentle but firm. Somehow she still smelled slightly of pine, despite being away from Seven for so long. And she was far more forward than Titania expected, pushing her up against the wall despite being shorter than her. That was also different, Titania was always the one in control.

She pushed back and reversed their positions experimentally. Serena May yielded, but there was still a tension remaining in her. This was not a starry eyed fan like those from One, or a frivolous Capitolite like the stagehand she took to bed the night before the games. The girl from Seven was her equal, a contender. Despite their drastic differences, this was someone who possessed just as much power as Titania.

Someone who liked her just as much as she liked them.

It felt like ages before Titania pulled away, although realistically it could have only been a few minutes. She stared at Serena May, shocked at the passion of the kiss, of the emotions radiating off the girl from Seven. It frightened and excited her. The scent of pine wouldn't leave her nose.

"I know." Serena May signed, leaving Titania briefly perplexed, "I know where we are. But I still want them to come back."

Titania's world felt like it was going to break. All of her life she had been training for the Games, preparing to do whatever was necessary in order to bring glory back to her family name. Nothing else mattered to her. But now that she was here in the Games, she had her alliance. She had Diamond, and Dash.

And Serena May.

She shook her head, as if the movement would remove the thoughts from her mind entirely. This kind of attitude was how you lost. She was so close to what she had been training for for so long. It was incredibly inconvenient to start wondering if that was what she truly wanted.

"I do too, Serena May."

**Elixane Marcus, District Three**

When she first signed up to be a career, Elixane had a lot of ideas about what that would entail. She thought about the whole world watching, seeing that she was more than just a girl of average intelligence in a district full of geniuses. She thought about leading the Pack, about the thrill of fighting and the elation of victory.

What she never imagined was being stuck in the middle of a desert of ash, hopping awkwardly through the dunes while her district partner shouted for her to 'skip-hop-creep' or some other nonsense.

"I'm going to fall over." She told Ashlar, as he told her to step with her left foot a second time.

"Well if you do that, make sure you fall without a rhythm." He commented dryly. It was unlike him to be so callous. Then again, Elixane knew he was an enormous nerd, though he would never admit to it. He reveled in the knowledge that something he read turned out to be useful in the arena.

Ashlar was strong and athletic, but he was also a Three, through and through. Not like her. She wondered why he chose to volunteer. It couldn't possibly be to get away. A guy like him could live a comfortable life in their home district. It made her bitter, how much better her partner fit in back home.

But she had to admit that his strange plan seemed to be working. She, him, and Cordelia had hopped, shuffled, and crab-walked for about twenty minutes at this point, and there was no sign of any mutt whatsoever. Elixane was just a few, arrhythmic steps away from being able to touch one of the palm trees lining the clear blue lake of the oasis. There were bushes, and tufts of grass here. It was the first time in days she had seen anything, apart from the tribute outfits, in a color other than black.

She purposely fell against the palm tree, just to be dramatic. "Do you think that we can walk normally now?" she asked.

"Most likely. Though I don't really have any way of testing it." Ashlar answered. But he stepped forward in a normal gait anyway. When nothing swallowed him up from below, both Elixane and Cordelia followed.

"This place is beautiful." Cordelia said, going towards the large lake.

Her remark reminded Elixane the other girl was from the fishing district. There were not a lot of bodies of water in Three. Most of the district was taken up by cities, empty rural zones, or some sort of factory. It was amusing to her that the first time she had ever seen a large body of water happened to be in the middle of a desert.

There was definitely some charm to the oasis. Although most of her fondness for it was due to how practical the area was. Trees for shade, a large source of water, and enough scattered rocks and bushes to hide if necessary. This would make a perfect new base of operations now that they were separated from the Pack in the Pit. And given the mutt guarding it, anyone who held this territory wouldn't need to worry about intruders sabotaging their camp.

Or so she thought. Then she noticed Cordelia freeze and draw her spear.

"Is something wrong?" Elixane called out.

Cordelia ignored her, keeping her eyes locked on a spot across the lake, addressing whoever she saw there instead, "Who are you?"

The glare of the sun made it difficult for Elixane to see what was going on, but a figure moved on the other side of the lake, coming around towards seemed poised to throw her spear, but Elixane placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Let's see who it is before you lose your weapon." she suggested. Cordelia nodded.

It didn't take long before the dark blob formed into a familiar shape: the boy from Nine.

"You survived." Ashlar said. The boy nodded.

"I know we left you behind. But you said we could truce for the night. Gather water, then let me leave in the evening. Is that still true?"

Elixane laughed in his face. "Ashlar might have called a truce. But I sure didn't. Cordelia, go ahead."

"Wait!"

Ashlar grabbed her arm and dragged her a few feet before Elixane planted them firmly in the ash and slapped him. "_What are you doing?_" she demanded through clenched teeth.

"Can I speak to you for just a few seconds? Alone?" he said.

Elixane was angry that he would even ask something like this of her. The world was watching both of them, expecting them to act like real Careers would. A whole lot more than just their lives were riding on this. Although they had to worry about that too. If he wanted a soft leader, Ashlar could have stayed with Titania.

Which made her wonder. Had Ashlar wanted to stay with Titania, but followed only out of an attachment to her? That didn't sit well with her. But there was literally no turning back at this point. Only death or success.

So, whether it was insecurity or attachment or sheer curiosity, Elixane nodded and let Ashlar take her to a secluded area behind one of the palm trees.

"Please don't question me in front of Cordelia. We've already seen what happens when she doesn't agree with people."

"Sorry. But I think we should let him stay." he answered.

"What _Why?_ The kid's barely even hit puberty. He couldn't possibly be of any use to us."

"Adorable team mates play well. He's moderately clever, if he survived this long, and…" Ashlar shuffled his feet awkwardly, "And I promised him."

"You only promised him because you thought he'd distrust you and get himself killed." Elixane snarled, barely managing to control her volume and to keep from shouting.

"But he survived, and I'm not sure I could be responsible for his death a second time. I'm not a monster, Elixane."

"Yes you are Ashlar, that's the job." she hissed, "We are monsters, like all of Panem wants us to be, so that no one in District Three has to be _hunted_ by monsters. If we become predators, our whole district will never be prey ever again. So get your shit together and don't just act like a Career. _Be_ a Career."

"Just for tonight." Ashlar begged, "Just let him stay for tonight. It will be worth it. Just trust me."

Elixane suddenly felt sympathy for Titania. She had far less people to deal with, but here they were, going through the exact same dilemma. Back when the girl from One let a tribute go, Elixane vowed that she would never make such a tremendous mistake. If she was in charge, she thought, they would have skewered the boy on sight. There was no room for mercy in the Games.

Except then she turned to glare at the young boy. Saw how he attempted to hide his fear. And she realized, despite how much she wanted to be, she wasn't that much of a monster.

"Stand down Cordelia." She called. Cordelia turned and threw her arms out in irritable confusion, but complied.

On the way back, Elixane stopped her District partner, warning him in a low voice, "I shouldn't have to remind you of this. But he probably _knows_ you tried to get him killed. Keep. An eye. On him." Ashlar said nothing, but she could see the whites of his eyes, could feel the tumult in his demeanor. It made her sick to her stomach, yet oddly satisfied, at the same time.

"Thank you." Rust murmured.

"Don't thank me just yet. I may still change my mind."

The boy nodded and thanked her a few more times, but Elixane was no longer listening. She had just made her first call as a leader.

She hoped it wasn't the wrong one.

**AN: Oh hey, these are coming fast again! Although I imagine after last time's cliffhanger this is sort of annoying. I'll tell you next chapter, I promise. For now, the as of yet unchanged kill count:**

**Dash Grester- Two kills, Raleigh and Lucien**

**Elixane Marcus- One kill, Demetri  
Demetri Donovan- One kill, Zella**

**Titania Topaz- One kill, Issa**

**Carlotta Pierce- One and a half kills, Arachne**

**Seaward Waters- One kill, Mattock**

**Cordelia Korver- One kill, Seaward**

**Violet Beckingridge- One kill, Ruben**

**Ashlar Granodum- One kill, Nettie Sue**

**I've already started on the next chapter, so hopefully it's another quick turnaround. Until then, please read and review. There's no deaths this turn but there is still some good stuff. Enjoy!**


	41. The Ties that Bind

**Serena May Lenovius, District Seven**

Serena May woke up to the feeling of cold air against her bare skin. It was a sharp contrast to the bright light that streamed down from the top of the Pit. Feeling safe enough not only to take an afternoon nap, but to do so naked, was awfully strange in the Hunger Games. Every moment not on her guard was a moment she could be dead. Yet the only thing that worried her was that she was alone. The realization left her with a pit in her stomach.

"Are you awake?"

Titania's voice sounded from the other side of the blanket Serena May had erected earlier that day. There was something exciting, perhaps a little rebellious even, about the entire world knowing about her and Titania. But some things were private. Using some of their supplies, she had created a structured curtain that could be pulled back and forth almost like a door around an alcove, which blocked what they were doing from view of all the Capitol cameras. Most likely, the audience knew exactly what happened behind that blanket, but the details remained solely between the two of them.

Serena May stuck one hand out of the blanket and gave the other girl a thumbs up. Titania giggled. It was slightly out of character for the girl, which Serena May rather liked to hear. Soft and warm, like Titania's lips against hers. Almost enough to make her forget that Titania was not made of satin and lace, but wire and steel, a skyscraper among humans. She would have to remember that, or end up dead.

"Good. The anthem is about to start. Although I admit I would have loved to wake you up~" Titania teased, and Serena May felt her cheeks flush with warmth.

Dressing herself quick, she emerged from their makeshift bedroom. Titania was slightly ahead of her, with a grappling hook in her hands. Serena May cocked her head to one side, puzzled, and the Career grinned.

"I thought we'd watch them in style tonight." Titania said, then turned towards the cornucopia. One powerful motion was all it took for her to throw the grappling hook up, where it latched onto the top of the structure, "How well can you climb?" Serena May bit her lip at the sight of the other girl's feat of strength.

Wiggling her hand in the air parallel with the ground, she hoped to signify that she was only an okay climber. At best, this was an understatement and at worst, an outright lie. Serena May was a fairly adept climber, but felt that in a death game there were some things you kept to yourself.

"I'll have to carry you then." Titania said, and held out her hand.

Serena May looked at the hand, trying to figure out just what was going on. It was difficult to say just how Titania was 'supposed' to be acting right now. Behind the privacy of a curtain, the two of them had sex before she fell asleep, something that was special and intimate to Serena May. But did that carry the same weight for Titania?

Neither Dash or Diamond had interrupted them, however, and although it was almost evening they were still the only two people in the Pit. So perhaps Titania ought to have expressed some apprehension towards the next anthem. Or maybe this excitement was her way of being hopeful, trying her best to believe that the projection in the sky would bring good news instead of bad.

Serena May took the hand.

Suddenly she was swept off her feet. She was so shocked by the pull that she actually squeaked, and clung tightly against Titania's midsection as she ascended the cornucopia. It was not a long distance, taking less than ten minutes altogether, before she released Serena May onto a flat plane at the very top.

As if on cue, the Panemian anthem's grand brass tune began, and Serena May sat down to look up at the sky. The very first face she saw was Dash Grester, smiling slightly down at the remaining tributes, confirming that one of their alliance was lost. But only one though. If Diamond had died, his photo would have appeared first, thanks to District order.

Serena May was not entirely sure how to feel about the situation. Technically all of the careers had been her allies. But she was always an outsider in most of their eyes. Elixane and Cordelia clearly wanted her gone, while Dash and Ashlar usually treated her with indifference. Diamond did try to be kind, but even that felt more like he was doing it on Titania's behalf. The Pack were Titania's allies, not hers. But she had gotten to know them all, and the loss of life weighed heavy on her.

Titania's face didn't betray any emotions when she glanced over. They were sitting close enough together that she could feel her trembling however. Seeing the other girl so vulnerable was strange, a reminder that for all her strength, she was made of flesh and blood just like everyone else.

Serena May squeezed her hand. Titania did the same in return and they looked up at the sky together, holding hands to remind themselves that they were not alone.

**Diamond Stark, District One**

Diamond watched as Dash's face faded from the flat plane of rock where the anthem was projected, only to be replaced by the face of his killer. Ordering things that way wasn't on purpose, Diamond knew, but it still felt disrespectful. For the first time, he got angry about district order, angry enough to throw something at the image. Deep down, he knew it wasn't the pictures he was upset about, but the fact that his friend was gone.

The fight at the boneyard had been hectic and messy. As the great rib cage came down all around him, a gigantic bone fell on top of the gryphon, shattering the mutt to pieces with barely enough time for the creature to utter one more devastating shriek. Diamond was about to chase down the two Outer District tributes, when he realized Dash was nowhere to be seen.

He found his ally unconscious, covered in a thin layer of bone dust, blood pooling profusely from his leg. Diamond knew enough about anatomy to tell right away that the girl from Six must have cut his femoral artery.

Diamond laughed darkly at the memory. It wasn't fair really. Untreated, an open artery could kill in minutes. Except Diamond had made it there in time to staunch the bleeding with his scarf and pour water down his friend's throat to compensate for the blood loss, when the boy from Seven came back.

"He looks hurt." Diamond distinctly remembered the boy saying, "You should go back to the Pit. Get him medicine."

"I should abandon my hunt you mean." He replied. He heard his own voice, flatter and more devoid of emotion compared to how it once was. The boy probably thought Diamond was a sociopath. But what Tanner thought of him was the furthest thing from his mind at the time. All he cared about was Dash lying beside him, sure to die without medical attention.

"Do you really care more about hunting us than saving your ally?" Tanner asked, the accusation in his voice clear.

To him, the answer was too obvious to even verbalize, and Diamond replied with a harsh laugh. A mistake, he realized now. He was a stranger to the boy from Seven, who probably grew up on horror stories about the ruthless nature of Careers. To this tribute, Diamond was a boogeyman, a monster with no mercy. The laugh was meant to be an acceptance of terms, an acknowledgement that despite his desire to make something of himself, he needed to make sure Dash was safe. A grim outburst in response to the morbid ridiculousness of it all.

Tanner had taken that laugh as a threat.

He was surprisingly fast for someone so injured. Throwing himself at Diamond, he knocked them both to the floor. Diamond panicked. He was an expert in ranged combat, in tactics and stealth. But fighting someone much larger than him, someone far more trained in hand-to-hand maneuvers despite his outer district status, put Diamond at a disadvantage.

Diamond realized belatedly that the boy he was fighting was the very same who had earned a perfect score in the training sessions. Panic gave way to instinct, and he let his training take over. He twisted, grabbing a dagger from his belt and slicing upwards.

A cannon boomed. Diamond lifted himself up in triumph, only to be knocked down again by Tanner. He had just enough time to piece things together and glance over at his ally from District Two. Dash was no longer breathing, and the scarf had somehow been knocked loose in the scuffle. Rage shot through his entire body, pumped through his veins like blood, burning so hot that he could barely see.

His next attack struck true. By the time the second cannon went off, his ears were still ringing profusely. The sound barely registered and Diamond dropped to his knees between the bodies of his foe and his friend.

After the fight, everything seemed slightly unreal, and Diamond was half convinced the entire conflict might have been a hallucination brought on by the heat. But now, staring up at the face of the boy from Seven, it was far too real to take.

He had the feeling that in the Capitol, people were arguing about who to credit for Dash's death. Was it the girl from Six, who had stabbed him with the bone in the first place? Others would probably side with the boy from Seven; after all, he was responsible for the delay in treatment, resulting in the Career bleeding out.

But Diamond knew that no matter what anyone said, what anyone agreed on, he was the one who was truly to blame.

**Rust Waxy, District Nine**

"So is your dad really a serial killer?" Elixane asked.

She ought to have been asleep already, but claimed that she was an insomniac, deciding to stay up through part of Rust's shift with him. He suspected that the real reason was that she didn't trust him. Which was fair. Rust wouldn't have trusted himself in this situation either. Though he also didn't know what he could actually do to harm three fully trained careers.

"Yes." He replied. It wasn't a question that demanded any more of an answer.

"What is that like?"

"Well he died before I was born." Rust said. "So it's not like I knew him. Mostly, it's like... being followed by a shadow. Like something you're supposed to be. Everyone is waiting for me to be just like my father. Some are afraid of it, some look forward to it. But it's all the same I think. I'm not myself. No matter what I do, no matter how much I try to be the opposite of him. They keep waiting for me to do something horrible."

"Well then what's stopping you?" The girl from Three idly fiddled with a dagger, and not for the first time, Rust thought about just how dangerous she of the people he was staying with were dangerous. One wrong move, and he would be dead. Rust was surprised at how open he was being, in light of that.

Yet dangerous could be useful on occasion. He found something oddly comforting about being tentatively allied with the Careers. He wasn't their target, not yet at least. Staying by their side meant he wasn't in their crosshairs. So he tried to take the question seriously, and figured something like 'basic human decency' would be a foreign concept to a girl like her.

"From doing something horrible?" he asked, and the Career nodded, "I guess I don't want to prove them right. I don't want to be the monster all of them expect me to be."

"But that's the thing." Elixane's eyes glinted with excitement in a way that made him nervous, "Everyone _already_ thinks you're a monster. They've treated you like crap your whole life for something you didn't do. Have you ever so much as been impolite to your home district?"

"Uh...no." Rust stuttered.

"But all your life, you've been told you were no better than a murderer. They've been telling you this since you were a _child._" The girl sounded angry. The only person who had ever been angry on his behalf before was Nettie Sue, "And now you're in the Hunger Games, a place where only monsters come out alive. Are you going to die because you don't want the small minded people at home to fear you? Because they will always fear you Rust. They will never see you for yourself, so you don't owe them your kindness and you _certainly_ don't owe them your life."

Rust didn't know how to respond to that. Looking up into the air to see Nettie Sue's face staring down at him, her death felt fresh in his mind. He could still hear the sound of grinding rock ringing in his ears as though he was still watching the sand worm devour her.

Nettie Sue was someone he owed kindness to, and he had run away to protect his own life. He tried to convince himself there was nothing he could have done for her, but the guilt remained. She had been a noble soul, kind and fierce and wonderful. In return for all that goodness, the world ignored her light, treating her like garbage the same way it treated him.

"You might be right." Rust said, and was surprised to realize that he believed it, "I used to think I knew a lot. But I'm beginning to realize that I don't."

"That's the start of true wisdom." Elixane said, "According to Socrates at any rate."

The Career seemed as though she might say something more, but instead she stood and cocked her head to one side. Rust followed her gaze. There was a small shimmering object floating through the sky above them, and if he concentrated, he could hear it beeping softly. A parachute was coming.

It hovered gently above them for a few minutes before falling low enough for Elixane to pluck it out of the air and look inside. She blew away the gold dust which covered the exterior of the tube then popped open the canister, revealing four tightly wrapped sandwiches.

"So that's what Ashlar meant." Elixane said to herself, then looked back at Rust, extending one of the sandwiches, "Four sandwiches. I think someone wants you to stay. But the real question is, what do you want?"

What did he want? He wanted to survive, but beyond that it was harder to say. Things were easier with Nettie Sue around. He had a direction and someone he could trust. The Careers had been nice enough to him so far, but he wasn't dumb. Elixane had all but admitted she was letting him stay because she believed keeping him around could win the group better and more frequent sponsor items. By the look of things she had been right about that. Ashlar was far too difficult to read. Rust suspected he had only told him and Nettie Sue the truth because he knew they would ignore it.

Yet it was still the truth. Regardless of his motives, Ashlar had done what almost every person in Rust's life refused to do, and been honest. He reached out a hand and took the sandwich from Elixane.

"I want to stay."

**AN: That was a long time to keep you hanging. Sorry guys! But we have reached the end of day Three! And we finally know who actually died. So Eulogy time.**

**14th, Dash Grester by Pacecca- Oh boy, Dash. You were real fun to write, and were a really good complement to all of the other careers. I actually originally had him going a bit further, but as I was writing the boneyard fight I realized that it was unfortunately his time to go. He was definitely one of the more social tributes, forging bonds with both Zella and Diamond and just being an all around team player. A team player with a high kill count. He'll be missed.**

**13th, Tanner Kelly by Tyquavis- Tanner has had the most slot changes out of anyone in these games. He was a bloodbath at one point, then I actually considered him Victor potential, but eventually I decided on him dying for Astra during a fight he wasn't outclassed in. He was a super adorable tribute, and his friendship with Astra was a pure joy to write. I'm going to miss him.**

**Now for an updated kill count.**

**Dash Grester- Two kills, Raleigh and Lucien**

**Elixane Marcus- One kill, Demetri  
Demetri Donovan- One kill, Zella**

**Titania Topaz- One kill, Issa**

**Carlotta Pierce- One and a half kills, Arachne**

**Seaward Waters- One kill, Mattock**

**Cordelia Korver- One kill, Seaward**

**Violet Beckingridge- One kill, Ruben**

**Ashlar Granodum- One kill, Nettie Sue**

**Astra Porter- One Kill, Dash**

**Diamond Stark- One Kill, Tanner**

**It's the end of the day, which means time for another Capitol Chapter. I tend to finish those quickly so I will hopefully not make you wait too long. This one is gonna have lots of Plot! So thank you for reading, please review, and I hope to have another chapter up soon!**


	42. See the Forest

Minerva watched the fizzing gold liquid spiral in her glass as she swirled her champagne glass around idly. Around her, Capitolites chatted and schmoozed. But their President was paying very little attention to them or their Gala. One political function was the same as all the rest, she believed, in that attending one was just like having attended them all. And she had been to _far_ more than one of these dreary networking events pretending to be a party.

Politically, however, at least this one was going well for her. Several members of the council had personally congratulated her on how well the Games were going. By their compliments, she could distinguish which of them were impotent figureheads, and which of them were smart enough to be a threat.

"So." someone to her right said, abruptly tearing Minerva out of her bored malaise."Whose decision was it to send the Rainfall Hydra after the Five girl?"

Juarez Nicolby, a junior member of the council, stood grinning there with a nearly finished drink in hand. His popularity amongst the council and the Capitol in general had been on a steady incline for some time, Minerva recalled, but his break into the political big leagues had only taken place earlier this year when he became the youngest member of the Panemian Ruling Council in history. While Minerva was the most singularly powerful person in Panem, the Council as a whole was her equal. Finer presidents than her had found many of their policies blocked by an adversarial PRC. The members of this group were Minerva's greatest allies and most fearsome rivals.

He was not yet on her radar, though she realized now that was a miscalculation. The question seemed innocent on the surface, easily dismissed as a fan of the Games asking about his favorite part. But there was steel in his eyes, the kind of expression which only appeared in those capable of seeing past the glamour and into the heaving, cutthroat machinery that kept all of Panem running.

"All of the Guardians were assigned areas to look after, and the Mutt Dispersal team decides collectively when they should be activated. Why do you ask?" She smiled, but did not let the light reach her eyes. She was used to this song and dance. In the Capitol, battles were fought and won through words and information. Juarez had asked an insightful question. But perhaps it was only a lucky shot. Now she would put his aim to the test.

"Well, we all know that while the Games are real and happening live, it helps to have... certain stories laying about. Friendships, betrayals, plots, strategies, death. Reminds me of an Opera. Don't you think so? I admire gamemakers, really, their ability to push people in the right direction and achieve the best possible result."

"They have a difficult job, yes. We're lucky to have the team we do." She answered, keeping her tone neutral. Nicolby was winding up to something. All she needed was to wait for him to show his hand.

"Yes, we're all quite lucky. But particularly you, don't you think?" he said with a wink, "After that nasty business during the Parade. There were not a lot of ways you could get away with having that Five girl die. It would be so easy to make a martyr of such a poor, innocent girl. If she had died in the bloodbath, well, I imagine the districts would have had your head."

"They would have had all of our heads." Minerva's voice hardened, "I merely would have been the first."

Juarez continued to smile, but she watched him take a half-step back. A victory for her. "But herding her towards the girl from Ten and Twelve... It seems mighty familiar, is all. A star-crossed lover, an innocent young girl. These parallels are so clear, almost no one's talking about such distasteful things as rumors that you fixed the reaping."

"I am flattered you seem to think I have that much influence over the gamemakers." Minerva said, going back to swirling her wine glass, "But it disturbs me that you believe I'd purposefully do anything of the sort. Everyone is already in an uproar over this 'New Mockingjay,' Anthracite Weitz. Why would I trade a martyr for a folk hero?"

She almost felt bad about drawing the young man out like this. Juarez clearly thought he was being clever, and in truth, he was considerably sharper than many other members of the Council. But Minerva practically created this game he was playing. There was no way he could win against her.

"I was hoping you would tell me." Juarez said, "Because the alternative is that someone from within your own administration is attempting to form a rebellion of some kind."

From Minerva's left side, someone gasped, and she remembered that this conversation was not actually private.

"Mr. Nicolby, apologize at once!" a senior Councilwoman nearby hissed, turning to Minerva before he could reply, "I'm so terribly sorry Madame President! His heart is in the right place. He's just...overzealous. Seeing shadows everywhere."

Minerva couldn't help but smile. All the pieces were falling into place. Juarez must have suspected a rebellion was forming from the very beginning, but everyone he shared his suspicions with would have dismissed such rumors out of hand. So, he had decided to bypass the proper channels and take his concern to the top, couching the suspicion in a personal accusation so that Minerva's pride would be on the line. Clever.

How sadly amusing, that he was so close to the truth without realizing who was behind it.

"Panem is a gleaming jewel of a country." She answered diplomatically, "And the brightest lights often cast the darkest shadows. I shall look into your concerns, Councilman Nicolby. While I am sure everything is in order, it pays to be vigilant. But let's keep this quiet from now on, why don't we?"

Juraez nodded his head, both surprised and grateful, and the senior Councilwoman ushered him off in a hurry. For a moment, Minerva was alone. It wouldn't last long, she knew. She was the President, after all, and everyone in this room wanted her influence for one project or another. That was the way of politics. She savored the rare moment of solitude.

Across the ballroom, on a large wall length screen, a live feed of the Hunger Games poured ambient violence into the Gala. Minerva took a seat in a nearby chair and looked up as the camera zoomed in on Anthracite Amber Weitz.

Her two allies were asleep, and she kept watch between the opening of the cave and the secret entrance to the tunnels. Tesla sighed softly in her sleep, rolling over towards Anthracite, clearly attracted to her warmth. The tribute from Twelve hesitated, then reached out a hand to stroke the young girl's hair, clearly weighing the merits of her affection by the look on her face.

The President spotted Nautilus Plume on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with one of the gamemakers who oversaw the mutts, and waved slightly. Se waved back then returned to the conversation. Minerva was a woman with vision, but she knew that she would be nowhere without Nautilus Plume. She had asked the director of sponsorships to find her a rebel leader, but se had outdone serself.

It was Nautilus who, after identifying that Anthracite could be a useful pawn, began to exploit her similarities to Katniss Everdeen. Se put an idea in a malleable escort's ear, who proceeded to use all of his resources into removing the bomb on Tesla's platform, ensuring she survived the bloodbath. After that, Plume set to work using ser position as the director of sponsorships to make sure the girl from Five stayed well equipped to deal with any nasty surprises in the Arena.

Finally, se managed to convince the gamemakers to herd Tesla in the direction of Carlotta and Anthracite. Now, just as Juarez predicted, it wouldn't matter if Tesla died. She was linked to the girl from Twelve. The girl who would lead Minerva's rebellion, and help guide the country of Panem away from ruin, towards a bright and shining future.

Minerva lifted her champagne glass in a private toast to Anthracite. She didn't know it yet, but if she survived the arena, a glorious future as a Mockingjay was in store for her. No, that wasn't quite the right term. She was no Katniss Everdeen. She would be a rebel, to be sure, but a rebel in service to the Capitol. There was a better name for someone like her.

"To the Jabberjay." Minerva Thornewood said quietly, and finished off her champagne at last.


	43. Twist the Knife

**Ashlar Granodum, District Three**

_Boom. _

Ashlar jolted awake. Usually he was a deep sleeper. On one occasion, earlier in the Games, Titania had actually struck him with the butt of a spear to wake him up for his shift. But the cannon was loud, loud enough for him to believe they might be close to where the actual sound originated. More than that, something in his gut woke him, a feeling of danger and unease.

Beside him, above him, a figure was already getting to her feet. "Where's Rust?" Elixane's voice rang out. She sounded authoritative, but Ashlar knew her well enough to hear the hint of panic.

"Maybe it's still his watch?" he offered.

"In that case, where is Cordelia."

It was a statement phrased like a question and it struck him harder than most of the weapons in the Games had so far. Ashlar looked around at their small camp site. He and Elixane were the only ones there when there should have been at least _one_ other person. Even more disturbing, some of their supplies were gone. Not much was missing, but they had so few provisions to begin with, Ashlar was able to pick up on the noticeable change in volume. He hastily looked through the pile with a knot in his stomach that only got worse when his fears were confirmed.

"He took the map." he said, trying to sound impassive about it. Ashlar had to hide the full extent of his fury for now. Allowing Rust to join them for the night was his idea, and now it appeared that the boy had betrayed that trust, stealing from them and possibly killing a member of their alliance, before running off into the night.

The Oasis was on the edge of the arena, limiting the number of directions someone could escape from. If Rust was on the run, Cordelia would have spotted him at the very least. Assuming the cannon signalled the death of Rust or Cordelia, there wasn't a question of who was at fault: it would be on Ashlar.

He was so sick of betrayal.

"Look." Elixane said, pointing, her tone jarringly even and plain. Through the palm trees Ashlar could see a figure in the distance. He grabbed his spear and ran, instinct telling him Elixane would be close behind.

Rust didn't move to run as they approached him. At first he didn't seem to notice the two of them at all. He stood, eerily still, staring down at Cordelia's corpse. Ashlar figured she must have been freshly dead since she had yet to sink into the ground.

"Rust." Ashlar said. The boy dropped the knife he was holding and turned his head to look at him. Tense silence filled the air.

Then Rust threw his head back and laughed.

It was loud and harsh, almost like the cannon that had sounded mere moments earlier, surprisingly low for such a young boy. Ashlar shuddered without even meaning to. Before now, analyzing the boy, he believed he had a good idea of what made him tick. He knew enough to know how to shamefully manipulate him and Nettie Sue into running towards the Oasis, running into certain doom. None of his observations could have predicted him not only killing Cordelia, but seeming joyful about it, though.

He took a step forward, and Ashlar instinctively took one back. "Don't move." Elixane said from behind him. Rust just laughed again.

"Right. Of course. We can't run the risk of me killing you now can we?" Rust said, raising his hands in mock surrender.

But a shudder of the boy's shoulders made Ashlar realize his mistake. Rust wasn't happy, he was hysterical. The Tribute from Nine was in shock. Whatever happened here had not been some cold blooded murder, but something sudden and traumatizing.

"What happened?" Ashlar asked gently.

More laughter, higher pitched now, growing increasingly unhinged. "I woke up. I trained myself to walk around at night so I'm a light sleeper. I caught Cordelia packing some supplies. She walked farther out to the perimeter so... I followed her. That's when she…"

Rust trailed off and stared into space with an empty eyed expression. Shaking his head, he continued the story. "She took out a knife. Started cutting into her own shoulder. When I gasped, she heard me, caught me watching her and… and… she said she was going to do this while I slept but… then she attacked me."

There was a sinister grin on his face, then, as the boy stepped towards the pair from Three. His footsteps were more confident than Ashlar had ever seen him; even Elixane took a step back.

"It's such a ridiculous story isn't it? Completely unbelievable. Obviously a lie." He continued forward until they were mere inches away from each other, and though Rust was the shorter of the two of them, he carried an aura of menace, "After all, I'm the son of Flint Corna! Why would anyone believe me?"

Ashlar couldn't help himself, he laughed. Rust flinched, clearly surprised, and for a moment he seemed shaken back to being the boy from before. It only lasted an instant before Rust had collected himself.

"Do you mock me?" Rust said, his eyes drifting over to the knife on the sand, then to a dagger Ashlar kept on a scabbard around his waist. His hands twitched slightly, a clear sign of intention to steal the weapon. Ashlar fought against his instincts to draw the dagger in defense. It would only be seen as aggression.

"No. Actually, I believe you."

Once again, Rust looked at him in confusion. Elixane took the opportunity to step around and crouch down to look at Cordelia's body.

"This wound on her shoulder is self inflicted all right," Elixane said, "What we get for teaming up with a known murderer, I guess."

"You're a murderer. And so am I." Rust said, clearly torn between relief and confusion.

"What she means is that she's done this before. Betrayed an ally. Tried to frame someone else. We figured that since she was caught the first time, she wouldn't try it again. But I suppose the temptation of framing the child of a murderer was too good to pass up."

Now Rust was undeniably shaking. "Perhaps. Or maybe…. Maybe I knew that. Maybe I'm framing her."

"You _definitely_ didn't know any of that," Elixane replied sardonically. Ashlar shook his head.

"Rust, is it so hard for you to believe that we believe you?"

The boy from Nine crumpled the way snow falls down the side of a mountain during an avalanche, all at once and with tremendous force, his face twisting into a mask of pain while soft sobbing noises burbled up from his lungs. Ashlar ran to him to provide him with comfort as though he hadn't spent his entire life training to do the _exact_ opposite.

"I thought you'd kill me for it." Rust said, between jagged, crying gasps. "I thought once I killed someone, you'd know I was just like him."

"Are you?" Elixane asked from behind them. It was curious rather than accusatory.

"I'm not." he answered, then repeated himself. "I'm not. I'm not, not, I'm not, no I'm not. I never want to do it again. I'm not like him. I'm not!" Rust was laughing and crying simultaneously, years of buried anguish billowing down the mountain in the night, as much a cry of sorrow as it was a clear relief.

"Of course you're not." Ashlar reassured him, "You never were."

**Carlotta Pierce, District Ten**

_Boom._

Carlotta turned to look at her two allies where they lay. Tesla was curled up in the crook of Anthracite's arm, snoring softly, while the girl from Twelve's chest slowly rose and fell. Not them, then. Although unlikely, there was always a chance of a snake bite, or a spontaneous heart attack, or any number of potential little disasters capable of killing any one of them. It bothered Carlotta how much she was afraid of such things.

Anthracite never ceased to piss her off. She wasn't even awake and Carlotta could hear her voice, chastising her any time she tried lying to herself. Realizing just how often she did so disturbed her. So many of her thoughts were such obvious justifications for her own unaddressed pain.

She wondered when she had started doing that. Probably the group home, where any sign of weakness was written, catalogued, categorized and weaponized with cold precision.

Except then she thought about her Aunt Marge, about life _after _she was taken out of the group home.

Things weren't bad at all, at first. Marge was kind, affectionate. There was plenty of food to eat, she had a room of her own, and the woman even taught her butchering basics so that Carlotta would always have a profession. She loved the woman, at first. Thought of her as her savior.

At first.

She found out about Dyson over dinner one night, learning it in a somber confession, between portions of mashed potatoes. Learning how Marge had adopted her only after her own son had died. She was a replacement child, nothing more. If he had lived, Carlotta would have still been in the group home, cared for by nobody. Loved by nobody. The more time went on, the more Carlotta was sure the woman's love for her was all an act, and the only difference between this home and the last one was that her physical needs were met.

She started to hate Aunt Marge then. No, that wasn't right. Yet again Carlotta could hear Anthracite's gently chiding voice as though it were really there. She didn't hate Aunt Marge, not really. She was _afraid_ of her. Of loving someone who didn't love her back. Very little would have stopped the old hag from dropping her back at the group home the moment she got bored or annoyed of her.

So Carlotta lashed out. She released Marge's horses, called her names, and destroyed property. If she could convince herself that she hated the woman, that she didn't care what she thought, perhaps it wouldn't hurt as much when it came time for the inevitable.

The longer she spent around Tesla and Anthracite, the more she realized that most of her actions were based around that fundamental principle. She mitigated hurt, prepared for the worst case scenario, and struck at people before they could strike at her.

She killed Arachne on that view of the world, and left Lucien to die. She could defend Lucien as being in self defense, but in many ways, Arachne was too. Carlotta knew that it would have torn her to pieces if she had to see that sweet girl's face in pain. So she killed her from behind, so no one could ever hurt her again.

Staring at Tesla and Anthracite, the feeling rose in her again. If she didn't take care of this issue soon, it would be too late. The two girls would worm their way into her heart, and they would hurt her. Tesla was living on borrowed time. Anthracite was a Twelve. There was no way on earth the Capitol was going to let a Twelve win the games. It had been almost twenty years since the last time, and Panem was still recovering.

Carlotta had no doubt they would be dead soon. Even if multiple victors were somehow possible, these two had no chance of making it. Which meant Carlotta would have to watch them die. She couldn't do that. She knew that she made a big show of being tough, to herself and others, but she knew that seeing the two of them in pain would absolutely break her once and for all.

Carlotta stood and walked to the corner of the cave where the three of them kept their supplies.

More than anything, this self awareness was a curse, Carlotta thought. She understood herself now, could wipe away her rationalizations like cobwebs off an old dusty shelf. But she couldn't change things. People would hurt her, or they would leave her. Carlotta would never feel love, never be safe, and the only way to protect herself was to strike first. It made her the bad guy, she knew this, but it also made her safe. It was a price she had to pay, because the alternative was too unbearable to think about.

Carlotta sorted through the supplies, trying to avoid getting any of the gold paint dust from the inner lining of parachutes onto her hands. Grabbing a backpack, some food, a couple of bottles of water, and a small cleaver, she held the weapon in her hands and smiled. Holding it felt like being home, helping Marge with work around her butcher shop. The weight was a constant, familiar thing and it helped calm her slightly.

She looked at her former allies and could practically hear the excuses and justifications in her head. They were too weak to truly survive these games, they were only holding her back, they needed her. But the whispers rang hollow. What she was about to do was an act of pure weakness, self-interest, cowardice.

A good person wouldn't do this to Tesla and Anthracite. A good person would respect their alliance, help them to survive as long as possible, and accept the inevitability of death with grace. But of all the lies she had told, Carlotta had never gone far enough to pretend that she was a good person.

She stuffed the backpack full of supplies, and with her cleaver in hand, headed out into the early morning.

**Violet Beckingridge, District Eleven**

_Boom_

Although it was muffled by her place deep within the cave system, Violet could still tell the sound of a cannon when she heard one. Someone was dead, which was just as well, she supposed. She decided that counting just how many people were left was a lost cause, but she still had a sense of the current state of the Games. They were half way through, by now, perhaps more than that.

The competition would only get harder from now on, so the cannons in many ways were a blessing. Outlasting was a perfectly valid strategy, so Violet felt content to wait while the rest of the tributes died. Preferably far away from her.

Violet finally arrived at the underground lake after some time. There was already a small makeshift camp on one side of the bank when she first made her way there, but after watching for a couple of hours, she had decided that no one was coming back. That was where she slept, although she awoke several times at the unfamiliar sounds of life underground. Eventually Violet gave up trying to rest altogether and began to prepare for the next day.

Being underground made it hard to tell just what time it was. A perpetual, dull glow emanated from the lake. Violet hadn't looked at it that much when she had first arrived, too tired to properly investigate much of anything. Now that she had more time, and had at least _attempted_ to sleep, she took a moment to soak in the beauty around her.

Violet had always thought it was a little cruel, how pretty the arenas could be. Watching the Games at home, she assumed it to be for the Capitol's benefit, who wanted their death sanitized and made into a show. That was probably the main reason, but being inside the arena herself, she appreciated that not everything was bleak here. These could very well be her last days after all. She held a hand out and a glowing blue dragonfly landed on her palm.

A sharp clang from one of the nearby tunnels startled the dragonfly and it zipped off into the darkness in alarm. Violet went tense as well and her hand drifted towards the bow slung over shoulder on instinct. Whatever made a noise like that couldn't be anything good as far as she was concerned.

Another clang drew Violet closer to the noise despite her better judgement. There was no reason to just wait for danger to come to her, she reasoned. If it truly was a threat, she might be able to take it by surprise.

The thought reminded her of the boy she killed, his eyes glazing over mid apology as her arrow pierced his heart. Did he think the same thing before he encountered her?. Maybe caution was necessary to avoid any more unneeded bloodshed. But what did that actually mean in the Hunger Games?

The blues and greens of the lake illuminating the dark faded into the uniform black cave walls of the underground, before giving way to the dull yellow glow of a candle, as Violet made her way towards the sound. Another tribute, then. Why would anyone be so loud? Her suspicion only made the ache of her muscles tensing worse, and although Violet loosened her grip on her bow, she did not put it away altogether.

Turning a corner deeper into the tunnel, she squinted in the candle light, just barely able to make out the silhouette of another girl facing away from her. Her clothes were blacker than the walls of the cave itself as opposed to the dark green of every other tribute. Her head was shaved, also black, with patterns of stars etched into her scalp.

Violet remembered her: the girl she had tangled with at the bloodbath, who she had stolen her brown messenger bag from. It was hard to tell what the girl from Six was doing, or how she would respond to a stranger in the shadows. Violet didn't want to risk it, but she wasn't sure she could murder someone in cold blood.

Astra stopped, turning towards her, and she lost the chance to make that decision. "You." she said simply.

"Me."

Violet tried to count the seconds they stood facing each other in silence, but like most of her attempts lately, the numbers slipped out of her head. Time was unreliable in the dark, slippery and subjective. Maybe they were there for seconds, or hours. Violet would have even believed it was days. The silence was tense and sharp, like a snake coiled before a strike. She wondered if she was going to die here, at the hands of this girl. Wouldn't that be fitting, to accidentally kill someone by being too hasty, only to die for hesitating?

"You know what?" Astra growled, her voice raw as if she had been crying, "I'm sick of this shit."

"What do you mean?" Violet asked.

"Killing each other. Hurting people. Acting like puppets for the Capitol. Smile for the camera as blood spills on you. Make sure everyone gets a good show. What's the point of this anyway?"

"The rebellion." Violet reminded her warily. Astra's words were a different kind of dangerous. They were the kind that could get them killed had they been back in District Eleven.

Violet wondered why that mattered to her now, since she would probably be killed, anyway.

"Right, right, _the rebellion_." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, "The end of the war was ninety-three years ago. Last time the Districts even tried anything was nearly twenty. You and I weren't even alive when Katniss Everdeen stood in the same position as you and me. But we're the ones who have to pay for some wrong? This arena is a graveyard of children."

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Violet hissed.

"Honestly? I'm not sure I care any more." Astra answered.

Silence came over them again. Violet no longer thought that the girl would kill her, but somehow she was even more terrifying now. Astra had something that was more powerful than any arrow: truth.

Truth and rage.

"I care." Violet said eventually, "I still want to survive this. But… if you don't hurt me, I see no point in hurting you." She thought about saying other things to Astra. Like how she was sick of the killing, too. How she had murdered a boy and she still didn't know if it was worth it. How, despite how poisonous her words were, she was right.

But Violet was a practical sort. Speaking those thoughts would only attract more trouble, and she was in enough of it as it was. Instead she just nodded. Astra nodded back, then turned towards the wall, continuing whatever she had been doing before Violet's interruption.

Violet didn't bother to investigate. Instead she turned and headed back towards her camp.

**AN: I'm not dead! It's sort of amazing, honestly. But I am going to make sure I finish this. As a matter of fact, I started Desolation in November, and I always wanted to take less than a year to write it. So I've set myself a goal, and that should help the chapters come easier. We're at top eleven now, so it can't be much longer right? Anyway, Eulogies.**

**12th, Cordelia Korver by WhateverIsOpen- Cordelia was such a gift of a tribute. Usually schemers are very in your face and clearly malicious. But Cordelia was so very chill. Her fear of confrontation mixed with her ambitions made her such a fun tribute to write, and gave me the opportunity to write a murder mystery. I knew pretty early that she was going to betray the other Exiles, but it took me a while to decide how exactly that would turn out. You will be missed, Cordellia.**

**And of course, the kill count**

**Dash Grester- Two kills, Raleigh and Lucien**

**Elixane Marcus- One kill, Demetri  
Demetri Donovan- One kill, Zella**

**Titania Topaz- One kill, Issa**

**Carlotta Pierce- One and a half kills, Arachne**

**Seaward Waters- One kill, Mattock**

**Cordelia Korver- One kill, Seaward**

**Violet Beckingridge- One kill, Ruben**

**Ashlar Granodum- One kill, Nettie Sue**

**Astra Porter- One Kill, Dash**

**Diamond Stark- One Kill, Tanner**

**Rust Waxy- One Kill, Cordelia**

**Thank you so much for reading, everybody. I hope you like it!**


	44. Who We Were

**Tesla Nichols, District Five**

"Carlotta!" Tesla yelled as loud as she could, her dry throat cracking at the final syllable. She had been calling out for their ally for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, though it felt like far longer. The arid conditions stole all of the moisture from her, leaving a dusty feeling in her mouth. She knew from the beginning there would be no answer, but a desperate hope inside forced her to keep trying.

"I'm sorry, Tesla. She's gone." Anthracite said from behind her, slinging a small bag full of their remaining supplies over her shoulder. Tesla wanted to stay in their cave and wait for Carlotta to come back, but Anthracite said it was too dangerous. She was probably right. But that didn't mean it was fair.

"Why though?" Tesla would have been in tears if not for the heat, "She said she wanted me to stay alive. She said she cared."

Anthracite shrugged, "It's hard to figure out just what's going on in that girl's head. On the bright side, if she wanted to hurt us, she would have killed us before she left. Which means she might not be our ally any more, but she's not our enemy either."

"I don't _want_ to look on the bright side." Tesla grumbled.

"Oh I understand, sweetie." Anthracite said, "More than most. I was quite the cynical worrywart before the games."

"Really?"

The girl from Twelve nodded, "Mattock was always telling me I was being overdramatic. He was the optimistic one, the one who was always calming me down. Now… Well I guess I just have to be cheerful for him."

At some point they had left the cave and started walking, though she hadn't seemed to notice, and Tesla took the chance to hold on to the other girl's hand. "Did you love him?" she asked quietly.

Anthracite smiled sadly. "You know what? I think I did."

High above the two girls, Tesla noticed a glint of gold, and heard the familiar beep gently riding the wind to them. She watched it float down towards them and plucked the sponsorship tube out of the air with expert timing. If the Hunger Games could be won on catching gifts alone, Tesla wouldn't be nearly so much of an underdog as she was.

She unscrewed the tube, and gold paint stuck to her hands and clothes as usual. When she tipped it to one side, a large water bottle fell into her outstretched hand.

"Useful." Anthracite said, "Carlotta took all of ours. Is there water in it?"

Tesla gave the bottle a shake. Although obviously sturdy, made of some kind of metal alloy, she could tell by the weight that there was nothing inside. She shook her head.

"Shame. A water bottle isn't worth much without water." Anthracite sighed. Being optimistic was clearly getting to her.

"I...I know where to get some water."

She hardly wanted to bring the idea up in conversation in the first place, much less go through with it. But sometimes, she could see a conversation in the gifts people gave her, a set of instructions laid out through presents instead of words. The water was gone, but Carlotta had left the spile behind. The water bottle was merely a reminder of how to use it.

If gifts could talk, this one would be screaming to go back to the forest.

Tesla knew that she had been relatively lucky in the arena. She had an ally, sponsor gifts, and her time in the Games remained relatively calm thus far. Only one thing noteworthy happened to her at all, yet it still terrified her. Visions of translucent fangs, and water sloshing into contorted shapes it was never meant to hold filled her mind. She was sure that the Rainfall Hydra had almost killed her. Now she was going to have to return to where it lived, where it hunted, or run out of water in a matter of hours.

Dehydrate, drown, or worse. There was nothing pleasant about the choice facing the two of them. Facing her.

"Are you ok?" Anthracite asked. Tesla had never been good at concealing her emotions. Some of her worry must have shown through.

Tesla tried shrugging off her fears. What was wrong with her? Anthracite watched her district partner die right in front of her. Someone she loved. She kept smiling, finding ways to be positive despite her situation, yet all Tesla had done this entire time was cry.

She thought back to her reaping, trying to stay by her father's side. Back then, she considered herself to very nearly be an adult. Allying with Anthracite made Tesla realize how far from that she truly was. She was a child still. But children never made it through the Games. She had to grow up, and quickly.

"That way." she said, pointing, "There's a forest of dark trees with water inside them. But there's also a mutt there, so we shouldn't stay long."

"Is that what you were running from when we found you?"

Tesla nodded, her mouth going dry once again. Whether it was from thirst, yelling or fear, she couldn't tell. Maybe it was all three.

"I can't guarantee it will be safe." Anthracite replied, putting her hand on the younger girl's shoulder, "But I can promise that I'll be there for you. No matter what."

Tesla laid both of her hands over top the one on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and together they pushed forward deeper into the forest.

**Elixane Marcus, District Three**

Elixane's group returned from an early morning hunt that proved disappointingly uneventful.

Using the map, she had identified a quick route in and out of the Oasis, making use of the cave system. Using it, at first, made her nervous as all hell. Running into a hungry sand worm in its natural habitat dwelling underground would almost certainly spell their doom.

She needn't have worried. They did find the worm, in a spacious underground cavern linked to multiple other cave systems. It curled in on itself, a subtle rise and fall of its skin the only proof it was sleeping and not some sort of statue. Rust actually ran his hand against it, thinking it was merely another wall at some point. But not even the touch woke the creature. They hurried from the cavern quickly, but all three of them realized that the Sand Worm only truly posed a threat to those above ground.

If they had found any tributes during their trek, Elixane would have been in a better mood. But none of them could find a single thing, tribute or otherwise, in the wide open dunes. With fewer tributes in the arena now, those who were left became harder to track. But that didn't mean she or her alliance could give up on hunting.

Her allies, however, seemed much less dedicated to the activity than her. She could understand why that was true of Rust, but Ashlar's behavior frustrated and baffled her. The stakes were high for him too. Elixane had never met anyone more full of raw patriotism than her district partner. She never quite understood his way of thinking, well aware that the political state of Panem was more than a little flawed. But that patriotism drove him to bring District Three the honor he believed it deserved. They both knew that they were playing for future generations.

Yet the way he sighed in relief, rather than disappointment, when they finished the hunt without finding anyone else... that filled Elixane with doubts about her district partner for the first time.

Back at their campsite, she examined her supplies, trying to occupy her mind with weapon maintenance to pass the time. No matter what she did, though, her nagging doubts continued to be a bother. Sighing, she set down her weapon and stood, finally giving in and deciding that she needed to confront Ashlar.

She was only about ten feet away from him when a high pitched squeal ripped through her eardrums. The sound was familiar to Elixane; she was no stranger to the telltale crackle of electrical feedback. For some reason she couldn't determine its origin. It echoed around the oasis, seemingly coming from all directions.

"Sorry about that." Screeching gave way to a voice. Though tinny and hard to make out, it was distinctly feminine, "Though... I don't know if there's anyone to apologize to, actually. Hard to tell if this is working on my end. But if you _can_ hear me, then well, hi. I'm Astra Porter."

The name didn't mean anything to Elixane. She exchanged an inquisitive look with Ashlar, but he only shrugged, as the voice went on.

"I guess that might not mean anything to you." Astra continued, eerily seeming to read Elixane's mind, "You probably know me as the girl from Six. A face and a number, that's it. Have you ever thought about how weird that is? We've all had our favorites, watching the Games at home, over the years. But if they didn't win, do you even know their names? Do you remember who you cheered for?"

What was this girl thinking? Elixane wondered how the gamemakers were handling this. Probably, they had cut the broadcast feed already, or drowned out Six's speech with music over a highlight reel. There was no way a speech this inflammatory was going to make it to the Capitol. Rebellions had started over much less than this.

Then again, maybe it was too much. Astra was pointing out how implicit everyone was in the Games, how beyond being forced to watch, the districts would cheer for favorites. And like the Capitol, they would forget. This was an uncomfortable truth, one Elixane believed most people would like to forget. The Capitol directly and obviously blocking her would change that, and might be enough to shake the Districts out of complicitness. Perhaps the gamemakers would merely let things play out, hoping the problem would resolve itself.

Perhaps Elixane was overthinking it.

"I had an ally. No, not an ally. A partner. If circumstances had been different, I think we would have been friends. His name was Tanner Kelly. I suppose I just want you all to know that. His name. That he had two brothers and no filter and that he deserved better. We all deserved better."

One final burst of static signalled the end of the broadcast, though whether Astra had purposefully been disconnected, or was cut off by the Capitol, was difficult to tell.

"How did she even do that?" Ashlar asked.

"There's arena space above and underground, so there has to be a sound system hidden everywhere. And microphones on the cameras of course." Rust answered, "It wouldn't be an easy thing to do. But the tools she'd need for it are all over the arena."

Elixane already knew that Rust was clever, but she was beginning to recognize a familiar self-assurance in the way he spoke, reminding her of particularly smart kids in District Three. If growing up there had taught her anything, it was how to spot raw intelligence. An idea occurred to her then.

"Could you track the signal?" She asked him.

Rust =contemplated that for a few moments, "Maybe. I would have to find either a speaker or a camera, though, both of which are pretty well hidden. It would probably be easier underground, after a cannon goes off, or during the anthem. Probably somewhere in the walls…" Blinking, the boy seemed to wake from his problem-solving trance, and looked at Elixane with wide eyes. "Wait. Do you want me to find her so you can kill her?"

"There's only eleven of us left." she answered, "That means seven people between one of us and victory. It's not enough to just sit here, and this girl is probably alone."

"I'm not a killer, Elixane." Rust said.

"I know."

There was no way, she thought, that anyone _didn't _ know by now. Elixane was sure that Rust's breakdown would be a highlight of the games, stuck on loop across the screens of Panem for at least another five years. She was proud of him, really. The realization clearly brought him some closure, and he seemed more comfortable in his skin than when they had first met. But this was the Hunger Games. Killing was the whole point.

"I don't think you are either." He insisted.

Elixane laughed, "Of course I am."

"Really? How many people have you killed?"

She didn't even need to count, it was something she knew in her gut. "One person."

"Same as me then." Rust practically glowed with the kind of confidence only a thirteen year old could have.

"It's enough to know, isn't it?" She shot back, and Rust chewed his lip, uncertain.

"Fine. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you're a killer, _then_ I'll believe you."

Elixane opened her mouth to brush him off for being ridiculous, but there was an earnestness in the boy's eyes. They looked just like the boy from Five's eyes, who she had killed, tossing her token onto the mines and triggering them to explode. There was no honor in it, the kill had been underhanded and dirty, she could admit that. But would murdering him with a sword really have been any better? His face would haunt her dreams either way.

"I'm a career." She said finally, "Careers kill."

"But you're a career from Three! That can mean whatever you want it to mean."

Although it was naive, there was some truth to Rust's point. Some things were set in stone. A Career went with the pack. A Career didn't run from danger. A Career killed. But the tributes from One, Two, and Four each filled a unique archetype of their own. One produced glamorous killers, Careers from Two were efficient and militaristic, and no one mastered combat in different terrains quite like a Four.

Despite not being a traditional career district, Three had a reputation of their own, too. They were the smart district, who built things and outsmarted their opponents. Coming into the Games, Elixane wanted to believe that she could expand people's expectations of her home. She wanted where she came from to be more than just 'smart.'

That wasn't all there was to it, though. Her sister, Amaia, came to mind, along with all the times they had argued over the years. Amaia always accused her of going in for selfish reasons, for glory and adventure. Elixane could admit to herself now that her sister hadn't been completely wrong. There was something exciting about being able to forge a legacy. What she did in the arena would affect the tributes of District Three for as long as the Hunger Games existed.

And what had her legacy been so far? Blowing up a podium, breaking from the Pack, and now she was thinking about tracking down a desperate girl to ambush her. She realized that her actions pushed beyond smart, yes, but they were devious. If she kept up like this, Careers from Three would be seen as manipulative, disloyal, tributes who fought dirty and played the games without honor.

That was not what she wanted her legacy to be.

"Rust, I am a killer." She said, meeting his eyes. She could almost see his heart break, and knew that back home, her sister's broke as well. "But you're right. I shouldn't play this how I think I'm 'supposed to.' We do this how I want. And I don't want to go after a girl who's clearly been through a lot. The top eight is approaching. No more easy targets."

Rust looked relieved, then confused. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean that tomorrow, we take back the Pit."

**Diamond Stark, District One**

Water surrounded Diamond.

He tried to swim out of it, but there was no apparent up or down. The current didn't seem to have any particular pattern, switching at random, hurling and sloshing him back and forth from one moment to the next. And, although he couldn't say where, Diamond had the gut feeling that he was actually moving.

Looking back, he should have seen it coming. Walking through a dense forest of bare, black trees, he suddenly found the foliage itself seeming to spray water in every direction. It was similar to the way the wind started to pick up just before the boneyard gryphon made an appearance. Diamond should have realized that he was about to face another mutt. Just like the wind had acted before the appearance of the Boneyard Gryphon, the water in the forest behaved unnaturally.

But Diamond ignored all the signs. Even when the flood began to take the shape of a many-headed serpent, he wasn't very concerned. What could a glorified puddle possibly do to him?

Then the creature swallowed him whole.

Now he was running out of air. Despite the coolness of the water all around him, Diamond felt as though his body was burning, lungs struggling for air that refused to come. A deep, fuzzy black crept into the edges of his vision, threatening to completely overtake him. He flailed his limbs in every direction, desperate for something to grab hold of, but there was nothing. He knew then that this was how he would die: helpless, gasping, and alone.

Suddenly the water cleared and he was breathing again. He coughed, spitting up water, as air returned to his lungs. Breathing again hurt more than Diamond ever could have imagined it would. But it was a welcome pain. He was alive, on land, and the Rainfall Hydra was nowhere to be seen.

_He was alive_.

The elation was brief. Safely out of the jaws of death, Diamond's survival instincts receded and his conscious, analytical mind began to regain control. As it did, his sense of primal euphoria faded, replaced by concern and confusion.

Why was he alive? There wasn't any reason that he could see for the mutt to spit him up and disappear without first letting him drown or killing him in his weakened state. Diamond would never have been able to stop it. And the woods looked different than they had when he was swallowed whole, thinner and closer to the dunes of the rest of the arena. He had been right that the Hydra was moving. Perhaps...

"How did you know how to do this?"

"I saw it on a highlights reel once. Katniss did it during the 75th."

Diamond heard two voices a short distance away, confirming his theory. The Rainfall Hydra was no more than a sheepdog to herd tributes from one place to another. No one had died since very early this morning. The Capitol was probably hungry for violence. For his part, Diamond just wanted to live. Before now, death had been an abstract concept, something unwanted yet distant. But feeling his body fight to keep awake as it was robbed of precious oxygen gave him new understanding. Death was ugly and painful and terrifying. Diamond would do anything in his power to avoid death, and the only way he could was to grant it to someone else.

Rummaging through his pack, he checked to see what weapons were still at his disposal. Most of his supplies were destroyed, too waterlogged to be useful. But his darts weren't submerged long enough to rust, which made them usable, even if they were slightly damp. He also found a sealed bottle at the bottom of his pack: a vial of poison given to him by a sponsor. It felt almost like fate, although Diamond knew that it was probably a more human intervention. Ultimately it didn't matter.

"Why were you watching the 75th Games?"

"Everyone in Five has to watch it. As a reminder. Do they really not do that in Twelve?"

They were close, maybe even within striking distance, if Diamond had been at full strength. But water still clogged his eyes and his head still spun. He knew his aim wouldn't be as true as it could have been. One of the figures moved, and their clothes glinted in the sunlight. Diamond didn't know how, but the smaller tribute was somehow completely covered in gold. A bright shimmering outline formed wherever they went, making it easier to track whoever it was between the dark trees. It helped, but he would need more if his dart was to strike true.

Closing his eyes, Diamond focused on the voices. With his eyes closed, he almost felt like he was at home training.

He was taken back to the morning of the reaping, when he had thrown his dart at Titania after she woke him up. The principle was the same, even if there were more variables this time.

Two voices. One older, one younger. He deduced that his target was the younger tribute, since the shimmering outline was smaller than the other, and so he set his focus on the softer, brighter voice. He felt the air on his skin, using it to judge how hard the wind was blowing and in what direction. There was only a slight breeze and he counted himself lucky for that. Though perhaps that, too, was Gamemaker meddling. Either way, his dart would meet minimal resistance on the path through the air and into his target.

Opening his eyes, he concentrated on the glittering outline. When she giggled softly, it was just enough noise for him to feel confident, and Diamond threw his dart.

The older voice screamed, but was drowned out by the sound of the cannon.

**AN: Hello hello. Still writing, still loving this story. Unfortunately I don't have much to say this time around so let's just get to the eulogies.**

**11th, Tesla Nichols by AProudBibliophile- Tesla was actually submitted to me as my one and only bloodbath. We can see how well I take direction. The moment I read her I knew she was going to be important to my story, and when Anthracite and Mattock came in all of the pieces fell into place. Tesla was a sweetheart and an absolute joy to write. She will be missed.**

**And the kill count.**

**Diamond Stark- Two kills, Tanner and Tesla**

**Dash Grester- Two kills, Raleigh and Lucien**

**Elixane Marcus- One kill, Demetri  
Demetri Donovan- One kill, Zella**

**Titania Topaz- One kill, Issa**

**Carlotta Pierce- One and a half kills, Arachne**

**Seaward Waters- One kill, Mattock**

**Cordelia Korver- One kill, Seaward**

**Violet Beckingridge- One kill, Ruben**

**Ashlar Granodum- One kill, Nettie Sue**

**Astra Porter- One Kill, Dash**

**Rust Waxy- One Kill, Cordelia**

**That's it for today. Thank you for reading!**


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